#croise

[superkirbylover]

today's work sketches

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

Pairing: Crosie

[Imagine you spent a whole war sending the love of your life into danger then went back to that country afterwards...]

Rosie's an hour late from work. He'd called and told Harry to expect it. The snow's falling hard, and there's still rubble and bomb holes all over Nuremberg. Their apartment is only a few blocks from the Palace of Justice, but on a clear day, it takes Robert forty-five minutes to walk back some nights. 

An hour isn't much. But it's snowing hard, and Harry's watching it come down, and all he can think about is the day Rosie went down. How it was snowing in Berlin. How he'd looked at that weather report and discussed it in Ops. If they should send the men up in that weather. The determination to hit Berlin every day they absolutely could had won out over concerns about weather. The men were beyond trained, and with Rosie in the lead, success was as certain as it could be.

And then Rosie went down, and Harry combed through interrogation transcripts for three days while he wondered if the snow or the clouds had obscured Rosie's view and been the reason he went down. And then the Russians sent word they had him. Robert Rosenthal. Major. American pilot. Broken arm. 

Harry had six weeks to think and think and think of Rosie going down. Of whether he should have fought more to keep the boys on the ground that day. On if Rosie's broken arm was his own fault. 

And now Rosie's back in Germany, and he's an hour late, and what if one of the men locked up for their war crimes recognized his name and sent word through some secret channel, and Rosie's on the ground in the German snow again with worse than a broken arm?

The lock turns, and Harry whips around from where he's been staring out the window. Rosie walks in. He's covered in snow. There's fabric wrapped over his feet and ankles, and his trousers are soaked to the knees. He meets Harry's gaze and grins. It falls off his face in an instant.

"Harry?" he says like he's shocked. 

Harry suddenly feels the tears running down his face. He shakes as he wipes his cheeks, but then he's shaking more, a sob cracking out of his chest. "Where–What–"

"Harry. Sweetheart." Rosie crosses the room, slipping a little on the wooden floor, but catching himself in Harry's outstretched arms. "Harry, Harry," he murmurs. "Shhh. Shh. It's okay. I'm okay. It's okay." 

Harry tries to speak, and he just blubbers, tears coming harder, breath catching behind his breastbone. 

"Come on," Rosie says. "Come with me, Harry." He tucks Harry against his chest and shuffles towards the bedroom at the back of the apartment. His coat is cold and slightly rough against Harry's cheek, but his hand is warm on Harry's nape.

He's here. He's alive. He's safe. 

Harry didn't send him to his death. 

Harry collapses on the bed and wipes his face again. He stares as Rosie strips down to the waist. "Feet?" he manages. 

Rosie glances down. "I stopped to help a woman clear her stoop," he says. "She insisted I wrap up my feet before I left." He sits in the chair by the closet and unknots the twine that's holding the fabric in place. It falls away to show his shoes and socks. He takes them off, and then stands and strips off the rest of his clothes, rubbing his hands roughly over his calves and knees for a moment. "I stopped to help a couple other people," he says. "Lost track of time." He pulls his robe from the closet and wraps it around himself, then sits on the bed next to Harry. "I'm sorry."

Harry opens his mouth to tell Rosie he's being silly. That he's fine that Rosie stopped to help. That of course he stopped to help. But his voice catches, and all he can do is lean in and press his mouth to Rosie's neck and feel his pulse. 

"What is this, Harry?" Rosie asks quietly, rubbing his thumb under Harry's ear. "I wasn't much later than I warned you."

Harry shakes his head, then sniffles. He smells Rosie's skin and lays his hand over the bit of chest showing at the top of Rosie's robe. Rosie presses their cheeks together, and Harry feels the lightest of kisses. 

"It's okay, Sweetheart," Rosie says. "You don't have to tell me right now."

Harry breathes out so hard he shivers from it. He grabs the front of Rosie's robe and clutches tight. "What if…"

"You don't ever have to tell me," Rosie says. "Not if you can't."

There are things Rosie can't tell him. He's tried, and he's ended up like Harry is now, teary and shaking and terrified. Harry's held him and told him it's okay. He doesn't need to know. Not if it's that hard to say. To be given that back, it makes the tears well up again. 

"I love you," Harry whispers. "I love you so much." 

"I love you, too," Rosie replies. "I love you more, maybe."

Harry closes his eyes, calm rolling through him at the old joke. "Maybe," he says. "Guess we'll wait and see."

Rosie presses their cheeks that much closer. "Guess we will," he agrees.

[superkirbylover]

oises

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: "Can you please stop thinking so loud?"

Pairing: Crosie

[No idea what Harry's thesis was about, but what if it was about this???]

Harry stops mid-sentence and reads the paragraph from the beginning. It's not right. He crumples up the paper and tosses it into the wastebasket next to his chair. He smooths a clean sheet of paper and picks up from the top of the paragraph. 

Three sentences later, it's in the wastebasket, too. 

The new draft makes it for six sentences.

Harry stares at the blank page and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He knows this. He writes the first sentence. He reads it a few times. He writes the second sentence. He reads it a few times. He lays his hand flat on the page. 

Rosie lets out a sharp laugh from the living room. "Can you please stop thinking so loud?" he hollers. 

Harry's head snaps up. "What?" he hollers back. He listens to the sounds of Rosie getting up from the couch and coming into their shared office. Rosie's grinning as he walks in, and Harry wonders briefly how bad he looks. 

"I swear the air changed shape when you started questioning yourself," Rosie says as he walks into the office. He leans over Harry's shoulder and picks up the finished pages of his dissertation. "Make us a couple martinis," he says. "I'll read through this."

"It needs a rewrite," Harry says automatically. He's been working for four hours, trying to freshen his latest draft.

"I bet it doesn't," Rosie says, eyes warm and happy and amused. Harry feels some of his stress leech out of his body. "I bet it's great, and you've just been staring at it too long."

"You think you know me so well," Harry says. 

Rosie shrugs, and his smile gets wide and sweet. "Make the drinks," he says. "Let me be the judge of where you are." 

Harry wants to huff at Rosie's order, but he knows Rosie is right. He needs a second set of eyes to really know if he's talking out of his ass, and Rosie is intimately aware of the entire goal of his dissertation. And Harry can't think of anyone else who could read his words and be kind but also honest. "You want a snack?" he asks. 

"No, thank you," Rosie replies.

Harry gets a snack. Piling cheese and crackers on a plate before making the martinis. He has three cheese-and-crackers before balancing the martinis in one hand and picking up the plate with the food in the other. When he walks back into the office, Rosie's stretched out on the couch, several pages facedown on his stomach. He looks engrossed and curious. Interested. Harry sets everything down on the table next to the couch, then sits in the armchair and picks up another cheese-and-cracker. 

Rosie puts another page facedown on his stomach and twists, picking up the martini closest and taking a sip. "You tweaked your argument about realism," he says. "It's stronger for your comparison against exaggeration. Well done."

"Thanks," Harry says. He has another cheese-and-cracker, then picks up his own drink. Another page goes facedown on Rosie's belly. Harry thinks he'd like to go facedown on Rosie's belly an coughs crumbs into his hand when he laughs.

Rosie cuts him a look, grin a little sly. "You're thinking loud again," he says. 

"You look very good like that," Harry replies, intentionally dragging his gaze up and down Rosie's body.

Rosie blushes like he always does and turns back to Harry's words. 

Another page facedown. Then another. And, finally, the last one. By the time Rosie neatens the papers and sits up, Harry's finished his snack and half his drink and feels like maybe he's written more than slop or tripe or shit like he'd been feeling before. 

"The next part is fantasy as catharsis, right?" Rosie asks. "Looking at the rise of fantasy in the post-war era of World War I?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees. 

Rosie beams and places the pages on the far cushion of the couch. He picks up his drink and holds it out for a toast. "It's great," he says. "Even better than the last draft. I think you're exactly where you want to be." 

Harry taps their glasses together and takes a sip as Rosie takes a good, long drink. Yeah, he thinks. He's sure he's where he wants to be, too.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: [ INHALE ]:          while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

Pairing: Crosie

It hits Rosie all at once. He and Harry are in London for a meeting, and they're splitting a room. There are two beds and a tiny private bath, and as Rosie steps out of the shower and reaches for a towel, Harry shifts back half a step to check his shave in the mirror, and their hips brush.

Rosie's naked, but Harry's got a towel around his hips, so it's not skin on skin, but. Oh. They're so close. So close. 

"Rosie?" Harry asks, turning with his eyebrows up. Rosie must have made a noise. A gasp maybe. "Hey, you okay?" Harry asks, moving the half-step to be closer to Rosie. His hip presses against Rosie's this time. 

Rosie's inhale is shaky and desperate. He manages to yank his towel off the bar and start drying himself off. "Fine," he says, and his voice is tight and high. He clears his throat. "Just fine."

Harry cocks his head and gives Rosie a once-over. Even his cursory glance can't miss Rosie's half-hard dick, even though Rosie tries to drape the towel in front of him like it's not there. "Oh," Harry says. He meets Rosie's gaze and turns more fully towards him, presses Rosie lightly against the wall and crowds him there. 

"We have–" Rosie groans when Harry slides his smooth cheek against his shoulder, then brushes a kiss to his neck. "We have to be downstairs in twenty minutes," Rosie manages. 

Harry's hands spread across Rosie's damp chest. He kisses behind Rosie's ear, then his cheek. "I won't push," he says. "But I'm thinking about it, too, you know."

"About?" Rosie asks, brain utterly empty as Harry busses his mouth and moves his hands from Rosie's chest so they can press together chest-to-chest. 

"You and me. Alone. No one to barge in without warning or track us down in the middle of anything." Harry pulls away and smiles at Rosie. It's warm and sweet and just a little dirty. "I realized it when you walked into the bathroom naked. That I could appreciate the view and not have to rush to finish my shower because I've got ten things to do."

"Yeah," Rosie says with a nod. He smoothes Harry's hair at his temple and steals a brief, hard kiss. "Yeah, that's kind of what I realized just now."

"It's just dinner and introductions tonight," Harry says. "I bet we can be back here in two hours, and then we'll have a whole, quiet night together." His eyes go teasing and sharp. "Or are you quiet, Rosie? I mean, I know you are when we're ducking behind buildings or in my office, but when you've got time, do you make noise?"

"Harry!" Rosie yelps. "The mouth on you."

Harry beams and leans in, gives Rosie his own hard kiss. "Can't wait to show you everything I can do with it."

Rosie laughs, bright and sharp. "You know, this whole boring experience neither of us wanted to have sure has a silver lining, huh?"

"It does," Harry agrees. 

They kiss once more, a little longer than the others, then Rosie pushes at Harry's chest to take his turn at shaving. 

Harry stays behind Rosie while he shaves, arms around his waist, nuzzling against his shoulders. It's soft and simple, but it's not something they've ever gotten to do before. Happiness and yearning bloom hard in Rosie's chest, and he loves the combination. To be here, together, and alone. It's going to be something wonderful.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: [ BEHIND ]:         upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

Pairing: Crosie

No more missions, the Colonel had said. Rosie lets the words repeat in his head as he walks to the barracks. 

No more missions. 

No more missions. 

The war's not over, Rosie had argued. He hasn't hit his thirty. The Colonel had stared at him for a long moment. He'd repeated himself. 

No more missions. 

It's not right, Rosie thinks. The other boys are still going up. The other boys still need to hit their thirty. What kind of leader would he be if he didn't go with them? Didn't see his commitment to the end? 

He steps into the barracks. It's empty. Everyone else is flying right now. He takes two steps towards his rack. There's someone behind him, suddenly, wrapping his arms around his waist, and Rosie's mind goes quiet. 

"Hey, Harry," he says without turning around. 

Harry pulls him close, presses his face into the back of Rosie's neck and kisses him just above the collar of his jacket. "You're back," Harry says like he can't believe it's true. Rosie understands. The Russians had sent word he was alive, and their brass had sent a confirmation back, and then Rosie had written as soon as he was able, but Rosie had also not really believed he was alive for awhile, and he'd been in his own body. How many letters have the fellas gotten that arrived after someone died? 

He turns in Harry's arms and cups his face, looks into his eyes and sees the worry and the fear and the relief and the love. He kisses Harry. Taking it slow. Relearning the shape of his mouth and the way his jaw moves under his hands. He nibbles Harry's bottom lip and smiles when Harry tightens his arms around his waist. 

When they pull out of the kiss, Harry keeps his eyes closed for a moment. When he opens them, there's tears there. Harry presses his face into Rosie's shoulder and lets out a shivering gust of a sigh. Rosie cups the back of his head and slips his other arm around Harry's shoulders. He hums into Harry's ear, a little bit of a song he learned from the Russians. 

"What's that?" Harry asks after a few moments. His grip on Rosie hasn't lessened. 

"The Russians said it was a love song, but I didn't understand the words, so maybe it's something filthy," Rosie replies. 

Harry chuckles. It's a wet, broken sound. But there's happiness there. "When do you go up again?" Harry asks, and his voice shakes, and god, Rosie loves him so much. The bravery to ask a question he doesn't want the answer to. A question he could leave silent for longer, but not his Harry. Better to get it said than hold it in. 

"I'm grounded," Rosie says, and he feels himself smile when Harry jerks his head up and stares at him. "Colonel says he'll consider me for the humanitarian missions that are in the works, but no more combat."

Harry blinks. His hands stretch wide on Rosie's waist. Rosie can feel the flex of his bicep as he slides his hand down Harry's arm to pull one of those hands to his mouth and give it a kiss. 

"What?" Harry whispers. He watches Rosie kiss his knuckles, then opens his hand and presses his fingertips to Rosie's mouth. Rosie kisses those, too. "You…you wouldn't allow that," Harry says. "You wouldn't let the Colonel do that." 

Rosie grins, then chuckles, which turns into a laugh. He presses his forehead to Harry's and strokes his cheeks. "You might know me too well," he says. "Because I definitely tried to argue to go back up."

Harry shakes his head, but he keeps their foreheads in contact. He snakes his arms around Rosie's neck and sways a little side-to-side. Rosie moves with them, drops his hands to Harry's waist and closes his eyes to enjoy the feel of being close like this again. 

"Colonel said no," Rosie says after a pause. "He said I'd done more than my share. He said there's plenty for me to do on the ground."

"I'm glad," Harry says. "Jesus, I'm glad." 

Rosie tucks his face against Harry's cheek. "I'm trying to be," he says. "But I might need some time. I don't like the idea of not going back up when I've got six spots left on my dance card."

"I'm filling them all in," Harry says, and it almost sounds like an order, the way he snaps it out. "You find me after the forts go up the next six times, and I'll dance with you all goddamn day if I have to."

Rosie kisses Harry's cheek. He lets his lips linger, tastes the bitter tinge of his aftershave and feels the beginning of the stubble against his lips. He noses into Harry's hair and smells the base shampoo and Harry's pomade. Harry holds him, still swaying, and after a moment, he starts to hum. 

They sway together in the empty barracks because all the other boys are up in the air, and Rosie knows it'll get to him. Oh, how it'll get to him. But right now, in this moment, it doesn't. Harry's waited six long weeks to even talk to him again, let alone hold him or dance, and as Harry turns his head so he and Rosie can kiss again, can connect again, the idea of no more missions feels damn good.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: [ NAP ] while receiver is resting, sender joins them in bed & cuddles up close

Pairing: Crosie

Rosie stops short when he comes up the stairs to Harry's desk and finds it empty. He checks the coffee maker around the corner, but Harry isn't there, either. Jack's office is empty, but Rosie had expected that. It's after six, and Jack works as hard as anyone, but he also keeps himself on a strict schedule when he can.

Rosie's been trying to encourage Harry to do the same, but Harry just gives him a look and says, "Rosie, you know I can't," and Rosie kisses his forehead and sighs and nods.

He leaves headquarters and looks around. Maybe he'd just missed Harry heading for the mess, he thinks. He checks. No sign of him. But Douglass is having lunch, so Rosie asks if he's seen him.

"We walk out of headquarters together, but he turned left," Douglass says.

"Thanks," Rosie says and leaves Douglass to finish his meal.

Turning left from headquarters could have sent Harry to the control tower or the hardstands or the barracks or the village. Rosie immediately disregards the village. Harry would have found him to come along or at least let him know he'd be off base. No one's flying today, but maybe Harry wanted to get the latest weather reports.

Harry isn't in the control tower, and no one's seen him. Winks is at the nearest hardstand.

"Haven't seen him, Sir," Winks says. "Can't imagine why he'd be down here, to be honest."

"Me neither," Rosie admits. He sighs and thanks Winks and heads for the barracks.

And there he is. Asleep on Rosie's cot, even though they're next to each other. His shoes and belt and tie are off, and he's wrapped around Rosie's pillow.

Rosie stares, wanting to memorize the moment. Harry actually looks relaxed. Which isn't always true for his sleep. But his face is slack, and his shoulders look loose. Rosie quietly removes his own shoes and tie and belt and lays down on Harry's cot, mirroring his position. He hugs Harry's pillow close and takes a deep breath. He smells Harry's cologne and the Army shampoo, and he thinks if he were the least bit tired, he could fall asleep just like this.

He stays awake, relaxed but alert, just watching Harry be still and at ease. He thinks about after the war, how he might wake up to exactly this every morning, except they'll be in a double bed, and Rosie will be able to scoot over and press them together, pull Harry in close and easy like he enjoys when they manage a little leave.

Harry's eyelids flutter, and he presses his face against Rosie's pillow. He goes still again, then his eyes open a little. Rosie doesn't get to see him wake up often. But after.

Oh, Rosie can't wait for after.

Harry's eyes open all the way, and Rosie watches as his gaze focus. And then Harry smiles, small and private and sweet.

"That's my bed," Harry says.

"Come and take it," Rosie offers.

Harry hums and pushes himself upright. He takes the two steps to his own cot, Robert's pillow still clutched in his hand. Rosie scoots as far as he can, and Harry drops down next to him, pushing his back firmly into Rosie's chest and reaching back to pull Rosie's arm around his waist.

"Took me forever to find you," Rosie murmurs. "Wasn't expecting you to actually be resting."

Harry hums again and turns his head. Rosie kisses the corner of his mouth. "I am trying to listen when you tell me to try and relax," he says.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," Rosie says and presses his nose into Harry's hair as Harry settles again. He smiles when Harry goes limp and falls back asleep. Rosie feels himself getting sleepy as well. It's easy now with Harry curled so close and warm. It's all he wanted, really, when he started looking for him. Just a few minutes to have Harry close.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

How did Croz figure out Rosie was a dom? Were Rosie and Jean secretly corresponding?

I have the beginning of this story written, actually. What happens is Jean knows her Harry and how he thinks of getting dommed (with no modern vocab on use), and she starts to notice that Harry says things about Rosie that he says about her.

"You'll be happy to know I've made a friend in Captain Rosenthal. He takes really good care of me. Makes sure I eat and tries to keep me from overthinking." (Jean perks up at the fact Rosie can do both of those things. They can be hard when Harry's too far into his own head.)

"Miss having your hands on me. Rosie gave me a good shoulder shakes the other day that really helped clear the cobwebs." (Hands is underlined in his letter; Jean will sometimes just put her hands on his shoulders or his chest and make him close his eyes and concentrate on her touch.)

"Rosie decided the only way to knock me out of my funk (his word) was to pick me up and swing me around by the waist until I laughed." (Jean can't do this, but she appreciates the fact that Rosie knows Harry well enough to just bother him into relaxing a little.)

"I keep thinking Rosie won't want to hear any more stories about Bubbles, but he keeps insisting he likes them because they clearly make me happy to remember, even if I do feel sad when telling them sometimes." (And, oh, yes, Jean thinks, perhaps this could work very well.)

Anyway, Harry says these things but is also still clearly having a hard time really relaxing, and Jean knows the only way to do that is to get him home for a little bit (very unlikely as he's group nav) or find someone who can help him the way she does.

So, she writes to Rosie. Hold on. Let me find what I have:

Dear Major Rosenthal:

We've never met, but I know you through my Bing's letters. He talks often about how you help him center himself and keep him from going too far into his own head. I'm glad he has you to help him with that. 

I'm writing to ask if you think you could provide a little more help. It's a delicate situation. You see, Binger and I, we have a way of handling things when his brain gets too busy for him, but it's not something I can easily do all the way over here. If you could show this letter to Harry in private, he could explain how you can help. 

I would not be sending this letter if it wasn't very necessary. I do not think Bing's a danger to himself in any way the military cares about, but I do worry what's happening in his head where no one can hear him think. 

If you do not think you can help Bing the way he needs, that's understandable. But I wouldn't feel right going without asking. 

I hope this letter finds you well. Based on what I know, you carry at least as much responsibility as my Bing. I hope you have someone to take care of you, too. 

All the best,

Mrs. Jean Crosby

Harry, of course, pretends like he has NO IDEA what Jean could POSSIBLY be talking about. But after some back and forth (and a SCATHING letter from Jean), he finally relents, and things progress.