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thrillingdetectivetalesCHERRY
Lew "Chuckler" Juergens/Robert Leckie
Author's Note: A fill for the Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme’s Memorial Prompt:
“Lew 'Chuckler' Juergens/Robert Leckie, Genderswap love”
This is just a quick, flirty exploratory scene of these two. Thanks tomuccamukk for the quick edit, which made it a much neater piece than it initially was.
Prompter, I hope you like it!
You can read it on AO3 over here.
“You keep wearing your dungarees out on liberty and High-Hips is gonna bust you back down to private,” Bobbie warned, flicking the ash off her cigarette into a bed of pristinely cultivated rose bushes. She was poised on the topmost step of a short staircase leading into a small, bustling dive bar, casting a pointed look at the woman lounging in the riotously blooming flower beds below.
Recently promoted Corporal Louise Juergens—Chuckler to her friends—grinned up at Bobbie, unbothered by this prediction. Clad in the aforementioned dungarees with a standard-issue sweater pulled haphazardly over the top and her dark waves tucked up under an overseas cap, Chuckler looked every inch the sort of woman that the Marine Corps Women’s Reserve professed not to allow among their ranks for fear of dampening morale. It was a startlingly good look, on her.
Chuckler rolled her eyes and took a long drag off her own cigarette where she was leaning against the tavern’s clapboard siding. With all her weight on her shoulder and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, she gave every impression of enjoying the crisp evening breeze as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Bobbie supposed she hadn’t—neither of them really did, tonight, stationed as they were safely stateside. The worst that Bobbie and Chuckler had to contend with was an uninspiring CO with a marked dislike of Bobbie that had damned Chuckler by association.
“I’d like to see her try,” Chuckler invited, cigarette bobbing cheerfully where it stuck to her lip. She folded her arm into a V and slapped gently at the firm curve of her bicep. “You think I could take her in a fight?”
“You fight the CO and you’re definitely getting busted,” Bobbie grinned. “Probably brigged, too, while they’re at it.”
Chuckler threw her head back and laughed. She was a funny sort, Chuckler, with her bawdy humor and undeniable swagger, her tendency to flirt with anything in a skirt that wandered into her field of vision. Despite these unapologetic quirks of character, nearly everybody back on-base at Cherry Point liked her, Bobbie included, which was something of a rarity.
“Might not be so bad, life in the brig,” Chuckler offered as she tapped her cigarette out among the fragrant wood chips lining the flower beds. “Couple square and a guaranteed place to sleep.” She licked her lower lip, bare and pink like always where Bobbie’s mouth was neatly coated with apple-red wax in careful accordance with MCWR grooming standards. “Maybe a pretty girl to come visit from time to time,” she considered, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Who knows?”
“Pretty girl, huh?” Bobbie echoed, leaning her temple against the corner of the building. Chuckler nodded and Bobbie arched one manicured eyebrow. “And just where do you suppose you’ll find one of those?”
Chuckler’s grin was sly and sharp and white. She flashed Bobbie a slow wink by way of response and puckered that pert, pink mouth around her cigarette. Bobbie felt a flood of heat wash under the collar of her blouse and she bit her lip against a grin, ducking her head.
She gave a little shake, carefully coiffed curls bouncing, and straightened back up, sighing into the twilight and stubbing the butt of her cigarette out against the dingy grey railing. It had probably been white once, crisp and clean against the building’s butter-yellow exterior, but this part of the Wilmington waterfront was old and weatherbeaten and largely ignored. Drab though it may be, the downtrodden aesthetic certainly worked out in favor of the clientele that frequented the area—of which Bobbie supposed she was now a decided member, though her head still spun a little to think of it—so she probably shouldn’t complain.
“What possible reason would I have to visit you in the brig?”
“Well, you’ll miss me,” Chuckler supplied, blue eyes glittering behind her long, dark lashes. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under her toe, moving forward to rest both hands against the railing and lean up into Bobbie’s space. She was half a head taller than Bobbie, and so the motion put her neatly within kissing range, not that Bobbie was especially paying attention to that sort of thing. “Won’t you, Lucky?”
“What’s there to miss?” Bobbie snorted. She waved a hand in a lazy gesture meant to encompass the entirety of Chuckler’s person and tilted her chin to the doorway at her back. “You’re all pilled wool and motor oil, Chuck. A girl can’t hardly spit in there without running into the very same, and I bet any one of those dames would be happy to foot the bill while I drown my sorrows if you end up behind bars for giving High-Hips the old what-for.”
“Please,” Chuckler huffed dismissively. Her breath was warm between them and Bobbie shifted to press her thighs together at the sensation of it gusting wetly past her cheek. Her skirt tickled her knees and her face flared even hotter. Chuckler saw it and grinned, “The only part of that nonsense with any truth to it is that you’ll waste away weeping into your beer without me around.”
“Will I now?” Bobbie smirked and drummed her fingers against the railing a few times, shifting over by degrees until her littlest finger was tucked snugly against Chuckler’s thumb.
“Sure you will,” Chuckler assured, tilting her head so their noses brushed. Bobbie sucked a shallow breath and tucked her lower lip between her teeth.
She hadn’t been certain, when Chuckler invited her to tag along on liberty, if the evening was going to play out at all like it had last time—which was to say: with Bobbie laid bare across a narrow, creaky mattress in a local motel room while Chuckler sealed that sly mouth between her thighs and put her tongue to good use coaxing noises out of Bobbie that she was still frankly a little embarrassed to think about. Bobbie inhaled through her nose, slow and metered, and leaned deliberately forward while she sighed it out.
The high blades of Chuckler’s cheeks were dusted pink with the early fall chill, or maybe just from the heat of their proximity. She opened her mouth like she wanted a taste of Bobbie’s breath, tongue a wet, rosy shadow hidden behind the white flash of her teeth.
“Go on, Luck,” she murmured. She was close enough that Bobbie could smell the strange, sweet spice of her perfume underneath the lingering musk of cigarettes and engine grease. “Tell me you’ll miss me.”
Bobbie wondered, if she peeled Chuckler’s dungarees back and ducked her face down the same way, would Chuckler taste as good as she smelled?
“Maybe I won’t.” Bobbie reached up to hook two fingers over the collar of Chuckler’s sweater. They were close enough that Bobbie could nearly feel Chuckler’s lips against her own when she added, “Maybe you ought to give me something to remember you by, just in case.”
Chuckler grinned, big and broad in her pale, lovely face. “Well, now, Lucky,” she promised, voice low and husky as Bobbie reeled her in, “I’ve got just the thing.”
Lew "Chuckler" Juergens/Robert Leckie
“Might not be so bad, life in the brig. Couple square and a guaranteed place to sleep. Maybe a pretty girl to come visit from time to time,” Chuckler considered, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Who knows?”
“Pretty girl, huh?” Bobbie echoed. Chuckler nodded and Bobbie arched one manicured eyebrow. “And just where do you suppose you’ll find one of those?”
Author's Note: A fill for the Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme’s Memorial Prompt:
This is just a quick, flirty exploratory scene of these two. Thanks to
muccamukk for the quick edit, which made it a much neater piece than it initially was.Prompter, I hope you like it!
You can read it on AO3 over here.
“You keep wearing your dungarees out on liberty and High-Hips is gonna bust you back down to private,” Bobbie warned, flicking the ash off her cigarette into a bed of pristinely cultivated rose bushes. She was poised on the topmost step of a short staircase leading into a small, bustling dive bar, casting a pointed look at the woman lounging in the riotously blooming flower beds below.
Recently promoted Corporal Louise Juergens—Chuckler to her friends—grinned up at Bobbie, unbothered by this prediction. Clad in the aforementioned dungarees with a standard-issue sweater pulled haphazardly over the top and her dark waves tucked up under an overseas cap, Chuckler looked every inch the sort of woman that the Marine Corps Women’s Reserve professed not to allow among their ranks for fear of dampening morale. It was a startlingly good look, on her.
Chuckler rolled her eyes and took a long drag off her own cigarette where she was leaning against the tavern’s clapboard siding. With all her weight on her shoulder and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, she gave every impression of enjoying the crisp evening breeze as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Bobbie supposed she hadn’t—neither of them really did, tonight, stationed as they were safely stateside. The worst that Bobbie and Chuckler had to contend with was an uninspiring CO with a marked dislike of Bobbie that had damned Chuckler by association.
“I’d like to see her try,” Chuckler invited, cigarette bobbing cheerfully where it stuck to her lip. She folded her arm into a V and slapped gently at the firm curve of her bicep. “You think I could take her in a fight?”
“You fight the CO and you’re definitely getting busted,” Bobbie grinned. “Probably brigged, too, while they’re at it.”
Chuckler threw her head back and laughed. She was a funny sort, Chuckler, with her bawdy humor and undeniable swagger, her tendency to flirt with anything in a skirt that wandered into her field of vision. Despite these unapologetic quirks of character, nearly everybody back on-base at Cherry Point liked her, Bobbie included, which was something of a rarity.
“Might not be so bad, life in the brig,” Chuckler offered as she tapped her cigarette out among the fragrant wood chips lining the flower beds. “Couple square and a guaranteed place to sleep.” She licked her lower lip, bare and pink like always where Bobbie’s mouth was neatly coated with apple-red wax in careful accordance with MCWR grooming standards. “Maybe a pretty girl to come visit from time to time,” she considered, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Who knows?”
“Pretty girl, huh?” Bobbie echoed, leaning her temple against the corner of the building. Chuckler nodded and Bobbie arched one manicured eyebrow. “And just where do you suppose you’ll find one of those?”
Chuckler’s grin was sly and sharp and white. She flashed Bobbie a slow wink by way of response and puckered that pert, pink mouth around her cigarette. Bobbie felt a flood of heat wash under the collar of her blouse and she bit her lip against a grin, ducking her head.
She gave a little shake, carefully coiffed curls bouncing, and straightened back up, sighing into the twilight and stubbing the butt of her cigarette out against the dingy grey railing. It had probably been white once, crisp and clean against the building’s butter-yellow exterior, but this part of the Wilmington waterfront was old and weatherbeaten and largely ignored. Drab though it may be, the downtrodden aesthetic certainly worked out in favor of the clientele that frequented the area—of which Bobbie supposed she was now a decided member, though her head still spun a little to think of it—so she probably shouldn’t complain.
“What possible reason would I have to visit you in the brig?”
“Well, you’ll miss me,” Chuckler supplied, blue eyes glittering behind her long, dark lashes. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under her toe, moving forward to rest both hands against the railing and lean up into Bobbie’s space. She was half a head taller than Bobbie, and so the motion put her neatly within kissing range, not that Bobbie was especially paying attention to that sort of thing. “Won’t you, Lucky?”
“What’s there to miss?” Bobbie snorted. She waved a hand in a lazy gesture meant to encompass the entirety of Chuckler’s person and tilted her chin to the doorway at her back. “You’re all pilled wool and motor oil, Chuck. A girl can’t hardly spit in there without running into the very same, and I bet any one of those dames would be happy to foot the bill while I drown my sorrows if you end up behind bars for giving High-Hips the old what-for.”
“Please,” Chuckler huffed dismissively. Her breath was warm between them and Bobbie shifted to press her thighs together at the sensation of it gusting wetly past her cheek. Her skirt tickled her knees and her face flared even hotter. Chuckler saw it and grinned, “The only part of that nonsense with any truth to it is that you’ll waste away weeping into your beer without me around.”
“Will I now?” Bobbie smirked and drummed her fingers against the railing a few times, shifting over by degrees until her littlest finger was tucked snugly against Chuckler’s thumb.
“Sure you will,” Chuckler assured, tilting her head so their noses brushed. Bobbie sucked a shallow breath and tucked her lower lip between her teeth.
She hadn’t been certain, when Chuckler invited her to tag along on liberty, if the evening was going to play out at all like it had last time—which was to say: with Bobbie laid bare across a narrow, creaky mattress in a local motel room while Chuckler sealed that sly mouth between her thighs and put her tongue to good use coaxing noises out of Bobbie that she was still frankly a little embarrassed to think about. Bobbie inhaled through her nose, slow and metered, and leaned deliberately forward while she sighed it out.
The high blades of Chuckler’s cheeks were dusted pink with the early fall chill, or maybe just from the heat of their proximity. She opened her mouth like she wanted a taste of Bobbie’s breath, tongue a wet, rosy shadow hidden behind the white flash of her teeth.
“Go on, Luck,” she murmured. She was close enough that Bobbie could smell the strange, sweet spice of her perfume underneath the lingering musk of cigarettes and engine grease. “Tell me you’ll miss me.”
Bobbie wondered, if she peeled Chuckler’s dungarees back and ducked her face down the same way, would Chuckler taste as good as she smelled?
“Maybe I won’t.” Bobbie reached up to hook two fingers over the collar of Chuckler’s sweater. They were close enough that Bobbie could nearly feel Chuckler’s lips against her own when she added, “Maybe you ought to give me something to remember you by, just in case.”
Chuckler grinned, big and broad in her pale, lovely face. “Well, now, Lucky,” she promised, voice low and husky as Bobbie reeled her in, “I’ve got just the thing.”