Last post for the evening, but I leave you with the summary of this unfinished fic I found in my MCU folder.
Steve is a well-known but selective Dom at a kink club. He’s open to most things but reluctant to roleplay as Cap. Finally does, brings the suit from home and no one realizes it’s him. Very private about his life outside the club and especially about his job. Someone from the club meets him as Cap during a crisis and recognizes him, only to realize that they’ve been getting Dommed by Captain America for six months.
every now and then, i see posts discussing whether people who didn't have sex can write good porn or not. those in favor usually argue that craft matters more than experience, while those against it say that the author's lack of experience is showing, and i won't share any of those posts because i fundamentally disagree with both.
my issue with the first is that it's not true that experience doesn't matter, but that experience alone won't make for a good work of art. this is true for everything: i never fished, and if i had to write a fisherman, i'd have to find first hand accounts. if another writer is used to fishing, they will know this more intimately than me without needing other sources. which one will be better? we don't know. it depends. but experience does matter!
the second case is plain silly, because you can't really read a person's life through their fiction—you can guess, i suppose, and sometimes you might be correct, but sometimes you might be incredibly, offensively wrong. it does reflect a valid criticism, however: sometimes, you read a story that features something you already did in real life (here, let's say it's sex), and you know that is not how it works. i'm not talking in a subjective way, i mean those physical aspects that go beyond positions, like how genital look like, taste like, smell like; the flavor and consistency of fluids; how orgasms can show in different people; the sensations of certain acts. some readers won't care if erotica is not realistic, but it's a common criticism, and a valid one, just not necessarily a proof of the author's lack of experience.
in this conversation, you'll often see people who say that horror authors don't need to go on killing sprees to write horror, but the thing for me is that this is rarely framed as the authors having experiences with violence, dread, horror, bodily changes you can't control, and other similar elements of the genre. if you have been stabbed, you might not be able to write a book, but if you're a good writer who has been stabbed before, you will likely be able to write a better stabbing scene than other writers. this should not be seen as depressing; learning about other people's experiences will likely improve one's craft, if you're willing to engage with those realities deeply. and authors can always emphasize their own skills rather than the bits that are difficult for them, as well as channeling similar sensations or emotions. a great writer who never had sex can focus on the emotional gravitas, or their own sexual desire; no one needs a partner to feel horny. ultimately, there is no need to feel defensive if you haven't gone through something, as it's possible to overcome this lack in writing, but it's also rude to question the sex lives of strangers because you didn't like technical aspects of their prose.
“no,” eoin says. it was 50/50, if anything. “did it work? how are you feeling?”
augustin shrugs. “a bit better after sleeping”
eoin nods. “what did he read to you?”
augustin looks down at the book and then back up at him. “he didn’t tell you?”
eoin holds his hands up. “i didn’t ask”
augustin considers him for a moment and then says, “william blake”
“ah, of course”
“there’s a story there?” augustin asks, tilting his head slightly.
“maybe” eoin smiles. “are you going to read it?”
“now?”
“you have something else to do?”
“i need to talk to zirnheld. you don’t know him, but-”
eoin nods. “i understand. later, then?”
“i’m not really sure what i’m agreeing to” augustin says quietly.
eoin doesn’t miss the slight blush that colours his cheeks. wants to bathe in it, actually.
“i’d like to see you later”
augustin nods but doesn’t say anything.
“would you like-”
“oui, yes” augustin says, adjusting his glasses. “i’ll find you, and paddy, later”
“aye, so you will” eoin says, grinning once more before he leaves him.
paddy is still where eoin left him when he reappears in his tent.
he doesn’t react when he sees him, just puts his book down as he looks up at him. “that was quick”
eoin smiles at him.
“what?” paddy says after a moment.
“i didn’t know you had a move. i mean i hoped, obviously…”
“what do you mean? what move?”
eoin sits down on his bed to look across at him.“the book, paddy”
“what about it?”
eoin raises his eyebrows at him.
paddy’s eyes widen as he sits up, outraged.“that’s not a move!”
“it isn’t?” eoin grins.
“stop grinning at me like that. it was not a move, i-”
“you what?”
paddy growls.
“words, paddy”
paddy huffs. “i told you,” he says, face reddening slightly. “i was giving him something else to focus on, trying to help him sleep”
eoin’s smile is warm and inviting, calling paddy in like it always does. “and what were you doing while he was sleeping?”
paddy deflates. “keeping an eye on him, like you wanted me to”
eoin nods. “you did well”
paddy takes a deep breath, chest tightening slightly. “did it work?”
“he said he’ll read it later, and then come and find us”
paddy exhales slowly, his thumb running over the cover of the book the only thing betraying his nerves.
eoin leans back on his bed, getting comfortable. “you know this would be a lot easier if there wasn’t a bloody war on”
paddy’s chest loosens.
“i’ll pass that on to ghq next time i’m there”
“you’ll leave a grenade behind next time you’re there”
“you love that about me” paddy says, smiling at eoin as he lays back down and opens the book again.
eoin’s answering grin is resplendent.
“come on then, what are you reading?”
“housman”
“of course, will you read to me?”
“i always do” paddy says, and then does just that.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
“you wanted to see me” paddy says as he enters stirling’s tent.
stirling takes a piece of paper from his desk and hands it to him. “this arrived this morning”
paddy reads it quickly.
his heart sinks.
“i’ll tell him” he says resolutely.
“paddy-”
“i’m not asking.”
stirling sighs again, he’s familiar with that tone. “fine, but please try to be-”
“aye” paddy says, shoving the paper at him and walking out.
paddy walks through the camp looking for augustin. he’s not in his tent, not in paddy’s tent, not in the mess. eventually he finds him with the free french. so not a surprise, really.
“jordan” he says roughly.
augustin looks up at him.
paddy gestures for him to follow and then starts walking.
augustin falls into step with him. “you’re always asking me to follow you”
“i need to talk to you” paddy says flatly.
“ah, if this is about the book i’m afraid i still haven’t finished it, but i thought about what we talked about and-”
paddy interrupts him. “it’s not about the book”
he looks over at him now, and- that twinkle in his eye and the look on his face… how the fuck is he supposed to shatter that?
augustin’s only just started looking at him like that, and something in paddy wants to revel in it.
he can’t, though. not now.
“just come with me” he says, something close to pleading in his voice.
“to your tent?”
“yes, to my tent”
“what is this about?”
“christ, augustin. will you just come with me? i don’t want to talk about it here”
augustin stops, and paddy braces himself and then turns back to face him.
“you haven’t called me that before” augustin says quietly.
paddy sighs. “i’d rather talk about this in my tent, eoin can-”
augustin tilts his head to the side. “this is about eoin?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
if paddy wasn’t so focused on him he’s not sure he would’ve heard.
“no” he says.
augustin’s brow furrows in confusion. “tell me, then. out here.”
paddy walks back to him, sighing as he looks around to make sure they’re alone. “bergé was captured in crete. he’s alive, but, unless he escapes he’s not coming back. you’ll replace him as squadron commander.”
augustin barely reacts, but paddy thinks he can see it now. the weight that he’s been carrying. it drops from his shoulders straight to his chest.
augustin clears his throat and says, “he’s alive?”
“aye” paddy nods.
augustin is silent for a moment before he looks back up at paddy.
“d’accord” he says, and then turns to leave.
“wait,” paddy says, reaching out for his elbow. when augustin looks back at him he says, “where are you going?”
“i’m going to tell the men, and then i’m going to write to him. what else is there to do?”
paddy exhales.
he nods, and then says, “when you’ve done that, come and find me”
“why?”
“so we can… eoin will want to-”
“what, paddy? what will eoin want?”
“jordan” paddy tries, looking around again.
augustin scoffs. “back to jordan? bien sûr”
paddy huffs. “suit yourself”
“i usually do” augustin says, turning to leave.
paddy sighs heavily and watches him go.
eoin, he thinks.
when paddy gets back to his tent, eoin appears immediately.
“you’ll find him, when he’s done?”
“he doesn’t want me to”
eoin tilts his head. “but you will anyway?”
paddy takes a seat on his bed. “aye, i will”
later, paddy finds augustin sitting against one of the walls at the edge of the camp.
when augustin sees him, he shakes his head. “i want to be alone, paddy”
“no you don’t, you want your friend back”
augustin looks out at the desert again as paddy sits down next to him.
“i thought you’d be telling me there’s no time for sentimentality”
“i don’t think i’m in a position to tell you anything of the sort”
augustin looks over at him. “you wanted to tell me in your tent? why?”
“i thought- away from the noise,”
“paddy” augustin says, and it’s so soft.
paddy closes his eyes against it, focuses on the sun burning his face instead.
he hears augustin exhale.
“stirling will want to-” paddy starts.
augustin interrupts him. “so stirling was going to be there? it was going to be me, you and stirling in your tent, was it? and eoin there watching?”
his tone is, well there’s no other way to describe it. it’s playful, he’s playing with him.
paddy reddens again, he can feel it.
it makes him want to- well he doesn’t know what he wants. he’s hasn’t known want like it, not since eoin.
“fuck off” paddy says, but it almost doesn’t make it out of his throat.
he looks away in the hope that augustin won’t notice, but movement draws his attention again.
augustin lifts his hand slowly, fingers reaching tentatively for paddy’s chin. he stops before he gets there, and paddy looks back at him intently.
sensing no resistance, augustin takes hold of paddy’s chin gently.
paddy doesn’t move. if he moves, augustin might move. and he doesn’t want augustin to move, he knows that now.
augustin rubs a thumb over paddy’s cheek, and smiles at him tenderly. “looks good on you” he says, as softly as the moment.
a small sound from paddy then. a huff. intimate.
augustin is enamoured.
“you’ll come to our tent?” paddy manages, and the way augustin’s eyes brighten in response makes it all worth it.
“oui paddy, i’ll come to your tent. maybe i’ll even read to you this time”
that better be fucking sunburn paddy feels on his cheeks.
another sound then, next to him. the sand shifting.
paddy keeps looking at augustin, and sees the look on his face. the moment he sees him.
he doesn’t need to look back at eoin to know he’s grinning.
“don’t say a fucking word” paddy says, but there’s no bite to it.
augustin is laughing at him.
fuck’s sake.
epilogue
augustin kisses paddy’s throat, and then his jaw, and then lifts his head up to kiss his mouth.
paddy gets drawn into it, book falling between his and eoin’s legs.
eoin breathes out slowly at the sight of them, and then a moment later says, “paddy”
“mmm,” paddy hums into augustin’s mouth, before pulling away to look at eoin. he must agree with whatever goes unspoken between them, because he nods and says, “aye, we should be careful. we don’t want to get carried away”
augustin makes a noise like he’s considering it, and then dips his head back down to kiss at paddy’s throat again.
“i wouldn’t mind getting carried away with you” he says.
paddy sighs, looking over at eoin again.
“i’m on sentry duty then, am i?” eoin says, he’s smiling though.
augustin pulls the neckline of paddy’s shirt down so he can kiss at his chest, and eoin, seeing that, says, “yeah, okay,” and gets off the bed.
paddy looks back at augustin. “menace” he says, reaching for his face so he can pull him back up to kiss him properly.
augustin hums in agreement.
eoin’s attention is drawn back to them. he watches as paddy rolls them so he’s laying on top of augustin, rutting languidly against his groin while augustin pants into his mouth.
eoin’s just about to give up and join them when he hears someone approaching the tent. “oh fuck,” he says quietly, as the person outside clears their throat loudly.
“paddy, may i have a moment?” stirling calls.
paddy drops his head onto augustin’s chest as he breathes heavily.
augustin hesitantly brings his hands up to stroke the back of paddy’s head and neck.
paddy lifts his head up to look at him, and then back over at eoin, who rather unhelpfully but of course predictably is grinning at him.
paddy extricates himself from augustin and gets off of the bed, running a hand through his hair as he joins eoin. he glances at him once, and eoin sees the hint of a smirk before he steps outside to meet stirling.
aye, eoin thinks, this is what i wanted.
stirling grins at paddy.
“what?”
“i knew you’d like him”
“who?”
stirling sighs patiently. “jordan”
paddy stops. “you forget i keep a .45 loaded”
stirling laughs. “you’re not going to shoot me, paddy” he says, continuing on. “that gun’s for your foreplay with the frenchman”
“start running!” paddy almost growls.
stirling does, his laughter ringing round the camp.
paddy immediately turns to head back to his tent.
he nods at eoin when he sees him. “you were no help”
“i hope you’ll forgive me,” eoin says jovially. “i’m a bit out of practice at sentry duty since i was always with you oh and also because I’M DEAD”
paddy huffs as he makes his way over to join them where they’re both sitting on the bed. “aye and don’t you bang on about it”
eoin’s laugh is bright and happy and paddy can’t help but grin at him.
augustin watches them both fondly.
later, when they’ve nearly drifted off, augustin runs a hand over paddy’s chest and whispers, “paddy?”
paddy hums.
“do you still believe that loving someone can make you a coward?”
paddy doesn’t open his eyes. just pulls him closer and reaches over to put a hand over eoin’s mouth, stopping the laugh he knows is coming. “ignore me, i’m full of shite”
