Spoils of war
Pairing: Speirs/Lipton Rating: Explicit Warnings: Exhibitionism
Word count: 4105 Summary: There was a perfect amount of space between Ron and the table, and Carwood wondered what would happen to that drowsy atmosphere of the room if he were to get up now, round the table to Ron and straddle him.
[Ao3]
*
The evening was even slower than usual, and Carwood could barely make himself focus. Gambling might have held some excitement before, but after countless rounds of poker and shuffling the same pile of money, cigarettes and looted treasures back and forth all glamour was gone. Even the fancy room with a big, shiny mahogany table that the officers were gathered around didn’t improve the mood much. It was all just passing cards, drinking slowly and chatting aimlessly about meaningless topics – politics, women, looting, company gossip, the sorts.
Carwood dealt another round. Harry and Nix were playing, but Dick who had joined them only for their company and not the activities sat behind Nix on a small couch. Harry and Nix had both downed impressive amounts of alcohol and wondrously were both still coherent, Harry even focusing on the game more than anyone else even though his cheeks were ruddy. Nix on the other hand had given up on tactics and was easily distracted from the game, often missing his turn by leaning back to chat with Dick.
On the opposite side of the table and altogether too far away from Carwood sat Ron, who was on his fourth glass of whiskey and more focused on airing his thoughts about the war and politics than his cards. Carwood looked at him there, casual and a bit tipsy, and in his boredom thought of great many things he’d rather do than sit there across from him.
Ron was loosened up a bit. He was a sight at the officer’s club, off duty but still with that edge he possessed that kept him gritting his teeth about politics even when no one was returning his fire. Not even Carwood was really listening to what he was saying, he just looked at his lips and the serious fire of his eyes, his neatly combed hair and the crisp collar of his shirt.
Carwood picked up his cards and looked them over without really seeing them, then returned to watching Ron.
The atmosphere was sluggish, the game mostly stagnant even though there were several dollars in the pot on the middle of the table. A light curtain of cigarette smoke swirled in the air as Nix and Harry kept idly smoking their winnings, both with their own ashtrays they had picked up somewhere next to their glasses.
Ron was quickly losing interest in the current round. He traded a few cards, scoffed at them and folded. When he threw his cards on the table, he leaned back on his chair and picked up a cigarette for himself. He slumped back in his chair, tipsy enough to give in to the urge, his head lolling back against the high backrest of the chair and his hand falling down onto his lap.
Carwood watched his lips closing around the filter and then when he inhaled admired the white stretch of his neck, recently shaved clean of any stubble, and felt a yearning throb inside his chest. There was a perfect amount of space between Ron and the table, and Carwood wondered what would happen to that drowsy atmosphere of the room if he were to get up now, round the table to Ron and straddle him.
They’d all look up for sure. Nix would frown and snicker into his glass, thinking it a very inappropriate joke, and Harry would soon join him. But Dick, who was paradoxically both the most decent and yet the most perceptive of them all, would know immediately. He looks from his couch, stunned and rapidly colouring, and just in the right angle to see Ron’s hand reach up from under the table and naturally land on Carwood’s backside.
Carwood smiles down at Ron, who has forgotten what he was about to say about the British and the radio speeches of their royalty and is instead looking up at Carwood with inquiry in his eyes. Only Carwood can see that look, hungry and shameless, dangerous in a whole another way.
When Carwood slips his arms around Ron’s neck and leans in to kiss him, their audience still thinks it’s just an unusually dirty joke. Harry laughs nervously and turns his eyes away, and Nix whistles and reaches back to nudge Dick, who wishes he were anywhere else even though at the same time can’t look away.
Ron lets Carwood place kisses on his unmoving mouth and feigns disinterest even when Carwood starts to grind down onto his lap. Ron doesn’t return the kiss, just keeps his hand possessively on his ass and with the other one reaches for his drink, taking a sip of whiskey while Carwood nuzzles into his cheek, begging for his attention and lets out the tiniest whine.
“Hey, it’s your turn!” Harry interrupted his daydream, and Carwood jumped on his place. He had forgotten that the game was still on and that he was in it, and turned hastily his eyes to his cards. He had a moderate hand and could perhaps bluff that it was higher and hope to intimidate Harry into folding, but right then he was much more interested in the tingling place in his mind than the modest pile of crumbled dollar bills and silverware on the table.
Carwood made his play, then Harry, and finally Nix. Nix raised the stakes, and Carwood called it without a second thought. Nix took the round but pushed most of his winnings back into the pot and demanded a new round after standing to go and fetch a new bottle.
Dick rolled his eyes on the couch but refrained from commenting.
Harry had lost the round so he dealt the cards. Carwood glanced towards Ron who looked more interested in his cards this time around, and his thoughts wandered again.
Ron downs his drink while Carwood lays pleading kisses on his neck, then sets the glass aside. He turns to Carwood and pets his cheek with a single finger, a scrap of attention that Carwood desperately wants.
Then Ron pushes him off his lap and stands up, and something relaxes in their audience who think the joke has run its course and is about to be put to rest. Only Ron doesn’t let go of Carwood but keeps him close, and there’s no denying the fire in his eyes. He stands up with all the calm and grace, but there’s no trace of it when he suddenly lunges at the table and throws everything on it off with a single wipe of his arm. He sends cards, silver and money flying, Harry manages to barely catch his ashtray before it’s flung to the floor but before he has a chance to protest, Ron’s turning back to Carwood, grabs him by his thighs and throws him up on the table, and deafening silence falls into the room.
Nix laughs, but it’s uncertain and confused. Carwood doesn’t care, because Ron spreads his thighs and pushes him down on his back on the mahogany tabletop and starts doing away with his clothes.
He finds himself almost fully naked save for his shirt remarkably fast, easier in the fantasy than is really possible, his open shirt trapped under his back but not covering him a bit. For a moment he is painfully embarrassed, laid bare on a table by a man, and his gaze bounces here and there, taking in his audience.
Dick is bright red and shocked but stares unblinkingly, his eyes never leaving Carwood.
Nix has half a grin on his face and is shamelessly drinking in the sight along his whiskey, dark eyes gleaming with lust and amusement. It is impossible to tell who he is favouring, but there is no mistaking the way he shifts on his chair to make room between his legs.
Harry is mostly confused. Shocked and blushing almost as much as Dick is, but unlike Dick without a clear idea of what is happening right before him. Carwood is giddy thinking that he doesn’t know what they are about to do, or if he does, he could never imagine how good it will feel –
“Don’t look at them,” Ron orders him, and Carwood’s eyes snap to him. “They can look at you, but you keep looking at only me.”
It floods Carwood with deep, shimmering love and devotion and he nods frantically, stares up at Ron and opens his legs for him. It’s obvious that this is not their first time, this is something they do a lot, often and with great abandon.
Ron reaches to caress his cheek briefly, head tilting when he inspects the object of his adoration, but his eyes darker than the gentle touch of his hand should allow. “Good boy,” he croons.
Something about the thought shocked Carwood out of his fantasy and back into the moment. Ron was never that domineering in bed, and Carwood didn’t know what to think of his own mind offering him a picture of this version of him. He swallowed and found his throat dry. He reached for his glass of water he kept with the whiskey, folded his cards and downed the whole glass.
Subtly he glanced around his buddies in the room, still bored and getting more and more drunk. Still, Carwood felt the tell-tale burn on his cheeks and for a moment was irrationally afraid that the others could someone hear his thoughts. The pleasant heat that had been pooling in the pit of his belly suddenly coiled in shame when he really looked at the others and remembered that he was really in their company.
Then his gaze happened across the table and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Ron, who was looking at him. His expression was just a slight frown like he had noticed Carwood staring into space and was considering if he was too drunk, but still Carwood felt himself blushing furiously when meeting his eyes. He had to hide his sudden awkward smile behind his glass and averted his eyes, but not before he saw Ron raising a brow at him.
“Should we change the game so that Dick can join too?” Harry suddenly suggested.
“Or we could just stop gambling,” Ron said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nix huffed, “poker without stakes is pointless. But another game might work, if Major feels like it.”
Nix turned to Dick, who smiled from his place with a teacup in hand and a crossword puzzle over his knee. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said.
Thus they weren’t relieved from their boring activity, but another round was once again dealt. Ron huffed even when he accepted his hand.
“As repetitive as our poor luck with battles lately,” he said, maybe at his hand or at the whole game.
“Oh, come on, Sparky, don’t say you miss combat,” Harry chuckled, pouring himself another drink. Unlike Nix, he wasn’t too picky about what he was drinking and probably didn’t even know what he was sloshing into his glass.
“Speirs has a point,” Dick commented from his place, and Nix groaned, hating it when Ron and Dick agreed.
Carwood smiled at the banter and let it wash over him. He got to steal another long look at Ron, who was suddenly more animated despite being a lazy drunk when he got to argue for a better plan of action for the American troops, and Dick joined him gladly in putting the world to right.
There was a fire to Ron, and even though Carwood was only happy that he didn’t have to risk him in combat, he admired the fire and how it tugged at his core.
That fire burns so good, Carwood knows. It’s in Ron’s eyes when he properly displays him on the table, on his back and naked, and then takes a grip utterly confident that he’ll be allowed and spreads Carwood’s legs. He’s fully erect, has been for some time now, so hot that even the cosy warm room feels cool. He knows that his audience is looking at him, perhaps shying away from his obscenely eager cock but still aware of it, and they all know that it is a man that makes him like this.
Carwood is eager and excited for a man, and the man handling him can have him any day, any way, and he’ll love it. He’ll love it, and he says so.
“I need you,” he whispers, still a bit shy, his body aflame with more than his own desire, “I want you, come on, I want you to… To…”
“To fuck you? Is that what you want me to do?” Ron asks, his voice louder and more confident, and Carwood loves the way he says fuck, he only says it when he means it.
Carwood can feel the shock in the room, the uncomfortable, hyper-focused silence, but also the curious hunger that can’t be denied. They want to see even when they also know they shouldn’t. “Yes, please, please fuck me,” he keens, his voice hoarse but clear in the room that is holding its breath.
Ron grins down at him, and then looks about like a wolf proud of his prey, and Carwood knows he’s staring down everyone in the room for a second before turning back to him.
Carwood hums in delight when Ron reaches down to touch him, only angles his hips better to allow him, almost delirious with desire and too far gone to feel self-conscious anymore. Ron doesn’t need to do anything except to have him too, because Carwood has done everything else for him, and he finds him already butter-soft and slick for him. It’s evident that he’s been wanting and waiting for this for a long time, and Ron realizes it when he easily pushes two of his fingers inside him, their drag slow and delicious.
He smiles down at him, pleasantly surprised. There’s that keen look in his eyes and his parted lips bare some of his teeth, and Carwood knows it’s a look that terrifies other men and sends them running out of his way. To Carwood though, that’s a look that draws him closer, a look that he loves and responds to with almost embarrassing certainty.
Carwood is obedient and won’t glance away, but he knows he’s being watched. He is on display, his love for Ron in all of its carnal glory is bared to everyone, and Ron is showing everyone exactly what kind of a lover he’s claimed. Carwood is shameless, proud and daring, and all for him. Others can look but never touch, he’s only for Ron and only Ron can make him this way.
Ron leans back just enough to open his belt and fly and pulls his cock out, and Carwood shivers, trying to inch towards him on the table, impatient. Ron hums a small laugh and holds him still by his thigh.
The mental image of Ron otherwise fully clothed in his perfectly neat uniform except his fly down and his hand around his cock is so strong it jolted Carwood out of his fantasy again.
He shifted on his seat and subtly glanced around the room and wondered how long he had stared into space this time, but even if it had been long he had dropped out of this round of the game and no one was waiting on him.
He was painfully hard in his trousers and suddenly really embarrassed. He knew he’d have to stay seated and keep his crotch hidden under the table for a while now, a predicament he hadn’t paid a single thought when he allowed himself to slip into the tempting fantasy. He glanced across the table at the star of his private dirty movie and guessed from the concentrated look on Ron’s face that he had a good hand and a fair chance at the pot on the table.
Carwood shifted on his place again and wished there was a subtle way to reach under the table to arrange himself a bit more comfortably. He wished in vain, and pulling away from the fantasy at such an intimate turn had left him with some lingering embarrassment, once again fearing he was giving himself away, so he took a moment to cool down a bit.
Without getting up Carwood reached for the tall glass bottle of water on the table and poured himself a glass. He admired the perfectly smooth dark wooden surface of the table, a product of fine craftmanship, and raised the glass to his lips. He considered in passing if he’d actually rather suck Ron off than be screwed on the table.
The cool water did little to calm him and he felt a wave of heat on his face again, thinking such thoughts. It was another fantasy of his, one he entertained alone in the dark of his bunk, where he sank on his knees before Ron in the middle of a briefing or at the officers’ club and sucked him off in front of everyone who just happened to be there, while Ron kept petting his hair and perhaps casually smoked a cigarette.
He glanced to Ron again and jumped on his seat when their eyes locked. His captain was looking straight at him in a way that suggested he had been studied for a while now, and there was a definite spark of interest there. Carwood couldn’t help but blush and knew that whatever Ron had suspected of his condition before, he was definitely on the right track now.
Harry chose that moment to loudly remind Ron that it was his turn again and reach to kick him under the table. Ron jolted and glared at the grinning Irishman, but returned to the game while Carwood returned to the best part of his fantasy.
Ron is always diving head first into whatever he’s decided to do, and once he’s decided something there’s no stopping. He is the same in bed – or on a table, it turns out.
Carwood knows that their audience believes until the last moment that it’s not going to happen, that even though it’s gone this far Ron is not actually going to fuck him, that it’s the one line they won’t cross. Carwood keeps his promise, couldn’t look away from Ron even without his order, but also knows that their fellow officers are still holding their breaths. Even Harry, as heterosexual as they come, is looking at him and wondering at his ecstasy. Nix is leaning forward, drinking the sight in as greedily as any vice he desires, and even Dick, as decent and good as he is, can’t tear his wide eyes from them either, can’t stop himself from wondering what that might feel like, if it’s really that good…
Ron looks smug, and Carwood melts at the sight of that. It’s perfection to be his.
To the shock of everyone watching, Ron takes him. There’s a gasp and a thrill in the room, the final boundary broken and the act sealed, there’s no explaining it away. Carwood cries out when Ron fills him, the feeling as all-consuming as it always is, he’ll never get used to it and never wants to.
They can see what Ron gives to him, see how he gives it to him, and how well he takes it. Ron takes him swiftly with his hands holding him by his hips, and Carwood cries out again and again, his voice rising to the ceiling.
Ron is talking to him and only to him, and their shocked to silence but still nailed to their seats audience learns his other names. He’s not ‘Lieutenant Lipton’ to Ron like this, he’s not even just ‘Carwood’, not when he sighs and moans his pleasure when Ron fucks him. His name is ‘darling’, his name is ‘sweetheart’, those are Ron’s names for him when he’s taking him hard enough to rattle the table, making Carwood hold on to its edge with a white-knuckled grip to stop himself from being pushed away.
In his lust-filled thoughts he knows he does belong in the middle of that table though, in the heap of silver and jewels and dollar bills, among other precious things Ron’s stolen.
Carwood barely remembers their audience though he can feel their gazes on his skin like hot wax dripping all over, can hear their shivering, harsh breathing and how they shift in awkward, reluctant arousal and perhaps envy. Carwood is feeling so good, so full and so electrified with how Ron knows exactly how to handle him, how to thrust deep and grind and find that spot that makes heat bloom inside, so strong and sweet that Carwood has to sob. He shivers, his arousal throbbing and aching, he arches his back every time Ron rubs against him just right or just a bit too long, and he lets his head tip back as he gasps and cries his way through the ride.
Ron is a carnal lover, passionate like he is with everything in life, and single-mindedly focused. He’s wild but not erratic, more like a predator mid-chase, and Carwood sees the flush on his face that matches the heat in his eyes. His hair is dishevelled with a strand of it falling over his forehead, and Ron tosses his head to shake it back.
He's gorgeous and positively burning with life when Carwood has him like this, between his thighs and on him. In him. It’s only in his fantasy when that’s all he needs, Ron inside him, parading him to all but refusing to share, here with him in the middle of this shameless display of the most beautiful sin there is, and with that he’d sink into pure bliss.
Back in reality though, Carwood had trapped himself into a rather awkward position. The plot of his fantasy having run its course he was left without a dream to entertain him and with only the aching, embarrassing need between his legs.
He was suddenly self-conscious and regretted letting his mind wander so. He felt slightly guilty about having made his friends part of his fantasy and kept his eyes down at the table, not daring to look even towards Ron. He quietly cleared his throat and tried to think something less incriminating to make himself decent again.
Luckily both Harry and Nix had finally drunken themselves into a condition where it was hard to muster up an attention span long enough for a single round of poker, and perfectly in tune with his friend Dick finally folded the crossword puzzle and suggested they’d all turn in.
As many rounds as they had played that night, when Carwood counted his winnings he concluded he was leaving with pretty much as much money as he had entered with, and with amusement supposed the others were the same.
Dick pulled Nix up from his chair, and with a grin the man slumped at his friend’s side. Dick sighed in exaggerated frustration and dragged Nix up and towards the door. Carwood rested his chin against his hand and watched them with gentle amusement that only grew when Harry joined in on bothering their sober friend.
He was so keen on watching them and hoping they’d leave the room soon that he didn’t even notice when Ron sneaked up next to him.
“What were you smiling about?” Ron asked him in a low murmur while scraping his spoils into a pile before him.
Carwood startled at first but soon settled. Ron had a curious look in his eyes, like he had sensed something hidden that he wanted to get his share of. Carwood smiled up at him, his flushed cheeks probably a good hint. “Nothing,” he replied.
“Right,” Ron said and clearly didn’t believe him. He was stuffing his pockets with what he’d won tonight but kept his inspective eyes on Carwood, who lightly worried his lower lip between his teeth and squeezed his thighs together, his cheeks glowing with colour.
Ron glanced to Harry and Nix hanging onto each other for support and Dick herding them out, perhaps worrying about the staircase that would prove a very embarrassing way for such fine officers to fall in the war, and declaring the coast clear Ron leaned closer to Carwood.
With his pockets filled with loot and cigarettes, Ron leaned his hip against the table, his head slowly tilting like he was considering what else he’d like to take with him. “Come to my room,” he requested quietly, his lips barely moving.
Carwood smiled and lowered his eyes, his blush deepening. “Yes,” he whispered back, and finally his frustration blossomed into anticipation.
