Jul. 15th, 2019 04:32 pm
FIC: Better Biting Down
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thrillingdetectivetalesBETTER BITING DOWN
Buck Compton/Lewis Nixon
The real tragedy in all of this, Lew considered a little desperately, awash on a wave of pleasure that soaked through to his bones, was that Compton was exactly as good between the sheets as advertised.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Lew hissed as his back hit the wall.
Compton, crowding up close in front of him with both hands fisted in Lew’s shirt, flashed the too-broad grin that everybody seemed to find so charmingly winsome. Lew didn’t really understand the draw—beyond the straight white teeth and handsome dimples Compton suffered the same self-aggrandizing conceit that blemished the good humor of every privileged son high on his own sense of entitlement. It was a flaw that Lew knew intimately, an old Nixon standby he glimpsed whenever he caught his reflection in a mirror, or a window, or the warm amber surface of a glass of whiskey, served neat.
“You say that every time.”
“Yeah, well, you are,” Lew insisted hotly. He gave a moment’s spirited struggle against Compton’s hold and was vaguely disappointed but not at all surprised when it did nothing to shake the other man loose. He thought absently, and not for the first time, that this must be a little like how it would feel to wrestle with Dick—pinned and helpless to do anything about it while he pointedly ignored all the places his body burned to touch.
“Suppose you oughta know,” Compton breathed smugly against Lew’s jaw. “I never met a bigger bastard than Lewis Nixon III.”
“Fuck you,” Lew spat, leaning in to scrape his teeth along the stubbled line of Compton’s throat. Compton sucked a breath and groaned deep in his chest. Lew could feel it under his tongue—the wanting pit of heat in his belly pulsed with the reverberations.
“That’s the idea,” Compton agreed huskily, that all-American grin taking on a distinctly lascivious slant. He moved one of his hands up to tangle in Lew’s hair, pulling so tight it made Lew’s eyes sting, and yanked Lew’s head back, forcing his chin up while Lew twisted against his grip. He waited until Lew settled enough to meet his eye before he asked, “You planning to cooperate at any point or did you want to keep being difficult?”
“I’m being perfectly amenable. Maybe you’re just not as good at this as you think you are.”
“Look,” Compton said, unimpressed, “we both know who you’d rather have up here pushing you around, but there’s that old chestnut about begging and choosing to take into consideration, alright?”
Lew’s face flooded with heat, stomach twisting queasily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Compton’s face went lax with pity under the familiar sly irritation and he started, “Nixon, come on - ”
Lew curled his fists in Compton’s lapel and cut him off with a sharp, fierce tug.
“Shut up,” he snarled, and Compton gave him a long, speaking look before he obligingly leaned in, ducked his head, and brought their mouths together. It wasn’t a kiss—too brutal by half and lacking any of the finesse that might merit the distinction—but it sent sparks out to Lew’s fingertips all the same. Compton licked his way forcibly past Lew’s teeth and Lew considered biting him on principle, probably would have if Compton hadn’t had the wherewithal to drive his thigh forward at the same time.
In a contest between fruitlessly punishing Compton for his characteristic arrogance and chasing his own pleasure, Lew erred on the side that had him rolling his hips against Compton’s thigh, seeking friction along the line of his cock where it ached in his trousers. Compton moaned into his mouth when Lew rocked against him and Lew did it again, tilting his face just enough that he managed to pull away from the decidedly-not-a-kiss and close his teeth hard over the blade of Compton’s jaw.
“Ah!” Compton’s whole body jerked as he flinched back, scrubbing at his chin and swearing around a gust of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, “Fuck,you’re a bastard. You know that’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Remember that next time you try to kiss me like your sweetheart.”
Compton’s grin unfurled slow and sticky like a fresh-pulled ribbon of saltwater taffy. It was patently unfair that a man so pale of feature he looked like a bleached-out photograph could wear a flush so well. Lew, meanwhile, had been doomed by virtue of inheritance to flood ruddy and blotchy all the way down to his knees anytime he sank too deep into his cups or an emotion looked at him crosswise.
“I thought you liked my mouth,” Compton said knowingly.
“I don’t like any part of you,” Lew corrected, baring his teeth in a sneer. “I just know there are better things you could be doing with it than giving me the Rhett Butler treatment.”
“If you’re that opposed to a little lip service we could always just stop.” Compton rocked his hips forward and ground his thigh against Lew’s cock, smirking at the way Lew’s breath caught around a moan in the back of his throat.
“Didn’t figure you for the type to welsh on a deal,” Lew sighed, straining against every point where Compton had him pinned. “Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. Nothing good ever came out of the West Coast.”
“Yeah.” The easy agreement threw Lew for half a second until Compton added thoughtfully, “You went to boarding school out there, right?”
Lew scowled, shoving at Compton’s shoulders, and Compton surprised him again by buckling under the sudden motion. He stepped back, tugging Lew forward by his shirtfront so that he stumbled onto the rag rug splayed across the floor. Lew tried to get his feet back under him but Compton was swinging him around with gusto, manhandling him just enough to keep him off balance until his knees hit the edge of the narrow mattress. Compton held him up over it for one spiteful, victorious second and then knocked him back onto the bed with predatory glee.
The iron frame rattled under Lew’s weight, juddering against the wall. Lew took a moment to catch his breath and spared some gratitude for the good fortune that had seen him billeted privately with a host who spent more time away than at home, lending aid to the war effort in some way or another that Lew had never bothered to ascertain in any great detail.
“Jesus Christ,” he snapped when he felt like he could breathe again, pushing up onto his elbows and glowering at Compton where he had taken it upon himself to start stripping down in the middle of the room. “You trying to get us caught?”
“Nobody here but us, Nixon,” Compton said, holding his arms out and gesturing to the empty room around them. The soft glow of the lamplight coming from the old camping lantern on the side table flattered the bared musculature of his arms to devastating effect. Lew considered, for a brief and petty moment, that he might just reach his leg out and kick the damn thing over.
“I’ve got neighbors,” he protested. Compton rolled his eyes and tugged his belt free of its buckle, dropping it to the floor where his shirt and undershirt had already been discarded in a heap.
“You’ve also got a reputation,” Compton supplied easily.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Compton rolled his eyes again. He seemed to do that a lot when he was in Lew’s company.
“Everybody knows you like a good time, Nix,” he explained slowly, prowling toward the bed as he unbuttoned his fly. “So how about you relax a little and let me show you one, alright?”
“Making an awful lot of assumptions about your competence, there, Compton,” Lew sneered, just to be contrary.
“Maybe,” Compton allowed, shucking his trousers. He was already stiff in his shorts, one hand set against his hip while he used the other to gesture to where Lew was draped across the bed, still fully kitted out except for his cap—abandoned on the way up the stairs—and the front tails of his shirt—pulled free in the earlier maelstrom of Compton’s roving fingers. “I’ve never had any complaints, but then I’ve never tried to suck a fellow off through his ODs before, either.”
“First time for everything,” Lew said unconcernedly, making no move to further disrobe.
Compton narrowed his eyes, palmed himself through his shorts, and warned, “I’ll pull off onto your face, if that’s all you’re gonna give me.”
“You can try,” Lew agreed, and let himself flop back onto the bed with a snort. “If you thought that bite on your chin was bad you’re in for a helluva surprise.”
“At least take your boots off, you lazy son of a bitch,” Compton sighed, stepping forward to stand between Lew’s knees. “I didn’t follow you up here to play valet.”
“Sure,” Lew drawled, not bothering to sit up. “And I suppose I’ll just happen to run face first into your dick on my way down there, right?”
“Well you’re certainly not going to run into yours.”
It was obvious from the edge to his tone that Compton was referring to the unspoken subject of Lew’s doomed infatuation rather than the physical impracticality of Lew somehow stumbling upon his own anatomy. They didn’t usually talk about his clandestine affection, at least not so overtly. Compton seemed to understand that engaging Lew directly on the matter would invite legitimate and immediate harm unto his person, but every once in awhile he grew bold enough to deal Lew’s secret a glancing blow and they’d been at the pub long enough this evening to bolster their courage in the worst of ways.
Lew gritted his teeth and stared furiously up at the ceiling, entombing them both in a long, frigid moment of silence to spare himself the hassle of sitting up and socking Compton one right in the teeth.
“Besides, if I wanted you to suck me off I’d hardly have to trick you into it,” Compton continued with a smirk, before the silence had stretched on quite long enough to be uncomfortable. “Everybody knows how you like to run your mouth.”
“Fuck you.” Lew dropped an arm over his eyes and jerked a knee in toward Compton, hoping to catch him on his bare thigh hard enough to bruise. Compton ducked out of the way of his flailing limbs, laughing under his breath, and then leaned back in once the danger had passed and tucked his fingers over Lew’s waistband.
“I was aiming for the other way around,” he clarified, slipping Lew’s belt free of its buckle and casually untucking his undershirt. “If I’ve got to undress you, I think it’s only fair I get a proper lay out of the deal.”
Lew grunted noncommittally rather than protesting or batting him away, and Compton took that as permission to press onward, making quick work of the fastenings on Lew’s trousers and tugging them down his thighs. He touched his palm cautiously to the exposed plane of Lew’s abdomen, fingers brushing carefully through the dark trail of hair meandering down past his navel and coming to rest just above the line of his shorts.
“You’re really not going to help?” Compton asked a little incredulously, slipping his thumb under the elastic to drag back and forth. “Not even a little bit?”
“You’re the one who’s so keen to mess around,” Lew accused, squinting out from beneath the line of his arm. Compton arched one imperious eyebrow.
“Yeah? You got something better to do?” he asked, cupping his free hand over Lew’s cock where it was tenting his shorts and squeezing just this side of too hard. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”
“Christ,” Lew swore and bucked up into Compton’s grip, heat pooling low in his belly even through the frisson of pain. He reached down to shove at Compton’s arm, hissing through his teeth, “Fine. Fine! Just, back up, will you? Give a guy a little room.”
Compton held his hands out and took a few slow steps back, eyebrows raised and mouth gone slack with amusement in a way that made Lew’s skin prickle hot.
He sat up, scowling, and bent forward to undo the laces of his jump boots, kicking them aside without ceremony and toeing off his socks. He fumbled through undoing the buttons of his shirt, swearing under his breath every now and again when his whiskey-soaked dexterity failed him, until he finally managed to shrug it off along with his suspenders. He tossed the shirt into the corner, followed in quick succession by his undershirt and dog tags. Compton watched in attentive silence as Lew shimmied awkwardly out of his trousers and shorts, one hand tucked past his waistband and working his length in slow, absent strokes while he took in the spectacle.
“Well?” Lew demanded when he was finished, leaning his weight back on his hands and feeling more wanton than he preferred lying there naked with his legs spread, cock hard and already leaking against his belly. There was a vague, embarrassed heat burning in his face that started to spill in molten waves down his chest, mottled and stinging.
Compton’s grin sharpened, pale eyes gone glassy with desire. He clicked his tongue and said, “That wasn’t much of a show.”
“What am I, Rita Hayworth?” Lew groused, reaching down to wrap his hand around his aching prick and give it a mollifying squeeze. He pressed his thumb up under the head and rocked into his own grip, breathing, “You want a show, go see the goddamn USO.”
Compton ducked his head, huffing a laugh, and dropped his shorts like they were made of lead.
“You’re lucky you’re decent in bed.” He straightened up and stalked back over to smirk down at Lew with his hands on his hips, cock full and flushed, standing at attention in a thatch of blonde curls. “Nobody’d have any reason to put up with you otherwise.”
“I’m excellent in bed,” Lew corrected, though he could begrudgingly admit that Compton’s assessment of his other redeeming qualities wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Lew was tolerated amongst the battalion because he was usually good at his job, he was occasionally good for a laugh, and he was always good for a round. The only person who regularly sought and encouraged his company rather than merely allowing it as an occupational necessity was Dick, who seemed, against all sense and reason, to actively delight in Lew’s presence in his own understated way. Their friendship remained a mystery to Lew, who felt himself unconscionably lucky to have swindled a man of Dick’s caliber into such ardent camaraderie and was happy to reap the benefits thereof for as long as he could without pursuing any greater investigation into the matter that might risk running Dick off.
This thing with Compton, strangely, made more sense, at least by standard measures of acquaintanceship. Like called to like, after all, and Buck Compton was just as big a bastard as Lew at the end of the day, though he was undoubtedly better at camouflaging it.
More importantly, he was indiscriminate enough in his intimate leanings not to mind coming with another cock in hand—or occasionally in his mouth—which dovetailed nicely with Lew’s preference for companionship that wasn’t afraid to push him around a little. They weren’t friends and likely never would be, if Lew had his way about it, but he could at least appreciate Compton’s raw athleticism and the many creative ways he put his body to good use in the bedroom. Not that he would ever express said admiration aloud. Compton’s ego was plenty to contend with as it was.
“I think you’re overselling yourself there, Nixon,” Compton snorted.
“Yeah? Well, how about you come down here and prove it?”
Compton flashed him the long-suffering look of a man who knew very well he was being goaded but had elected to go along with it anyway and folded gracefully to the floor. He hooked Lew under the knees and dragged Lew’s legs up over his shoulders, yanking him forward none too gently until Lew’s ass was hanging half off the mattress and he’d given up touching himself in favor of clutching the bedclothes for support.
“What was that you were saying about my mouth a few minutes ago?” Compton asked. His breath was hot against Lew’s skin and he didn’t wait for an answer before licking a broad stripe up Lew’s cock and sucking him down.
Lew moaned and made to buck up into the tight, wet heat but Compton held him fast, an arm wrapped around either of Lew’s legs and fingers digging bruises into the meat of his thighs. The real tragedy in all of this, Lew considered a little desperately, awash on a wave of pleasure that soaked through to his bones, was that Compton was exactly as good between the sheets as advertised. He was pushy and impolite about his desires, certainly, but Lew was hardly meek in pursuit of his own and would happily abide a little rudeness in the bedroom when it left him ridden hard and put away wet in exactly the way he liked best.
“Damn,” he breathed, falling back against the mattress as the slick slide of his foreskin over Compton’s tongue sent white heat licking through his belly. Compton made a low, satisfied sound that rumbled through his mouth and Lew dug his heels none too gently into Compton’s back, pulling Compton down and pushing his hips up as best he could in such an intractable position, trying to ride the vibrations. By some miracle of leverage he managed to hit the back of Compton’s throat, gasping at the soft, wet give even as Compton choked and pulled off, burying a cough against his shoulder.
Lew leaned up onto his elbows again at the interruption, groping blearily for Compton’s head and trying without much success to force it back down.
Compton swatted at Lew’s questing fingers and delivered a sharp, stinging bite to the curve of his inner thigh. There’d be a welt there later, Lew was certain. The thought of it made him shudder.
“Quit that.” Compton’s voice was hoarse and taut with warning in a way that made all the fine, dark hairs on Lew’s body rise with animal alertness. “I’m doing you a courtesy here.”
Lew glared down the length of his torso and past his cock, which was curved up against his belly and dripping precome, flushed blood-dark and shiny with Compton’s spit even in the low lamplight. “I’ll be sure to write you a commendation for exceptional etiquette.”
Compton sighed through his nose, flicked his gaze irritably toward the heavens, and pinched Lew, hard, right at the seam of his hip. Lew yelped, his whole body spasming, and tried without much success to wriggle his way out of Compton’s hold, swearing a blue streak under his breath all the while.
“You got anything?” Compton asked a few minutes later, when Lew had lapsed into a tense and mutinous silence. Compton’s chin rested awkwardly against Lew’s knee as he surveyed the scatter of uniform pieces strewn across the floor. He didn’t bother waiting for a response before he started pawing haphazardly through Lew’s discarded trousers, which suited Lew just fine as he had petulantly decided against providing one.
One leg momentarily freed, Lew posted his foot against the edge of the mattress with his knee bent up toward the ceiling. The other was still hung over Compton’s shoulder, pinned in place by the arm Compton had wrapped absently around it, though he didn’t seem particularly concerned with keeping it there while he rifled through Lew’s pockets. He came upon the tin of Vaseline that Lew kept on-hand without much difficulty and spent another few minutes digging around until he huffed a small, frustrated breath and asked, “Rubber?”
Lew blinked up at the ceiling and didn’t say a word. He could feel the weight of Compton’s gaze on him, heavy and expectant. Compton gave him a few seconds of grace and then, when he understood that Lew had no intention of responding, used the arm he still had twined around Lew’s leg to shake it back and forth, demanding his attention.
“Nixon, you got a rubber?”
“Fresh out,” Lew provided shortly, still staring at the water-stained wood overhead.
A few of his army-issued prophylactics had facilitated tremendously satisfying liaisons with a young lady in Aldbourne who was dangerously good with her fingers, and the rest had been provided to Compton himself by one measure or another during the handful of furious, frantic couplings they’d fallen into before shipping out to Utah Beach. The regiment had only landed back in Southampton a couple of days ago and there’d hardly been opportunity to resupply while the 506th was skulking about northern France, engaging Kraut soldiers in skirmish after bloody skirmish.
“Damn,” Compton muttered.
“Could have brought your own when you decided to come sniffing around looking to play tail-gunner.”
Compton shot Lew a flat look. “You practically begged me to follow you home from the pub.”
“Hearsay,” Lew replied archly. He considered Compton for a moment, narrow-eyed, and announced, “I’m not going bare. Too much clean-up.”
“Right.” Compton curled a hand around Lew’s ankle where he had his foot up on the bed and gave it a pointed squeeze, making the bones grind just a little. “Because God forbid you should bathe more than twice a month now that we have the luxury.”
“You know, Compton, you sound a lot better with your mouth full.”
Compton snorted, arching an eyebrow. “Does that usually work for you?”
“Never had any trouble back home.”
“‘course not, with all those Manhattan gadabouts and blockhead Yalies you were swimming in.” Compton grinned up at Lew, affecting a piss-poor mockery of a crisp-edged blue blood East Coast drawl made all the more obscene by the rasp lingering in his throat, and quipped, “Better get back to it, then, old boy, for I do so loathe to display myself at a disadvantage.”
“You could learn a thing or two from them,” Lew replied meanly, while Compton fished the Vaseline up off the floor and unscrewed the lid. The heat in his belly throbbed when Compton dipped two of his broad fingers into the tin, coating them liberally. “You’ll never nail down a husband if you don’t flatter your feminine attributes.”
“You would know,” Compton agreed easily, abandoning his grip on the leg Lew had over his shoulder and pushing it up so that Lew had both feet planted on the mattress with his knees splayed out wide. Lew’s gut twisted, face flaring hot and a little ashamed to be on such prominent display at the same time that the need under his skin started to boil in earnest. Compton didn’t seem to notice Lew’s discomfort, or more likely just didn’t care, drinking in the sight of Lew’s spread thighs and aching prick with a thirst that had him licking his lips.
“Keep your hands to yourself or I’m going to stop being nice,” he warned. It was something of an empty threat, as Compton had never seen fit to treat him especially gently so far as Lew could tell, but he wouldn’t argue when the result was Compton curling his dry hand around the base of Lew’s cock and ducking down to take him into his mouth again.
Lew bit back a gasp at the pressure and fisted his hands in the sheets, knuckles so tight they felt a half second from splitting while he fought the urge to reach down and cup the back of Compton’s head, hold it in place so Lew could push up into the slick vice of his throat.
Compton worked him that way for awhile, driving his hand up with a twist and bobbing his head down until his mouth met his knuckles, then drawing back again, stubbled jaw scraping rough against Lew’s skin in occasional, tingling slivers of contact. Every pass of Compton’s tongue pushed Lew a little deeper into the thick, sticky heat pulsing under his skin until he felt submerged in molasses, head swimming, fingers flexing in the sheets to keep from yanking shamelessly at Compton’s close shorn hair.
He was considering the wisdom of loosening his grip just long enough to get a hand around his cock when the knuckles of Compton’s other hand nudged his balls and the pads of his slicked fingers pressed, firm and searching, against Lew’s hole. Lew moaned despite himself—a wanting, warbling thing that trembled pitifully toward the ceiling—and wrangled just enough breath to insist, “Hey, no. Not without a rubber.”
Compton squeezed hard at the base of Lew’s dick and pulled off just enough to gripe hoarsely, “Christ’s sake, Nixon, I know.” His fingers were still there, rubbing in slick strokes across Lew’s hole, calloused pads catching promisingly at his rim even as Compton glowered. “I never met anyone so stupid they kept stepping on the chance to get theirs first. Not until you, you stubborn jackass.”
“Your pillow talk could use some finessing,” Lew muttered. His whole body was strung piano-wire taut, thighs shaking with the effort of not pushing back onto Compton’s fingers or rocking up into his too-tight grip.
“Oh yeah?” Compton snapped, grin gone vicious. He looked torn between laughing at Lew and slugging him. “How’s this: shut up and let me get you off. I want to get back before guard change.”
“Charming,” Lew hissed, breath punching out in a sharp gust as Compton pushed his fingers forward. They slid in up to the first knuckle with little resistance and Lew hated himself for arching into it, back bowing up off the bed.
“You told me not to treat you like my sweetheart,” Compton said ominously, and then went back to work.
His fingers spread and curled, sinking into Lew just a little too fast, pushing past the slight sting of entry with practiced ease and teasing out the spot that had Lew bucking into Compton’s mouth and tossing his head against the bedsheets with all the accuracy of a celebrated sniper.
“Fuck,” Lew gasped, rolling his hips against Compton’s fingers and shaking under the sloppy drag of his tongue. He was more sobbing than breathing by this point, body sheened with sweat and hair curling damp at the nape of his neck, his forehead, his temples. “I hate you. I hate you so goddamn much.”
Compton made an amused humming sound around Lew’s cock that sent pleasure quivering up his spine and Lew dug his heels into the mattress in an attempt to steady the resultant tremor jittering its way through his frame.
It was true, was the thing. There was little about Compton that Lew liked and most of it began and ended with the unusually combustible chemistry that saturated all the spaces between them, sitting thick in the air like methane just waiting to catch a spark. Beyond the expert curve of his fingers or his laudable skill with his tongue, Compton was arrogant, conceited, and selfish—all of Lew’s own worst qualities reflected back at him from a G.I. so square of jaw, broad of shoulder, and gregarious of nature as to be almost offensive. Compton was, by all reports, a perfectly passable sergeant, but reasonable competence in the field had never spared a man Lew’s ire and that wasn’t about to change for some schmuck from UCLA, no matter how much the men enjoyed his company.
Lew had fumed for days when Compton first showed up in Aldbourne, slotting into Easy like he belonged there and wandering shoulder to shoulder with Dick while they laughed about their shared experiences with school sports. How he and Lew had fallen into bed together remained something of a mystery—Lew had vague recollections of brawling in the alley behind a pub in the small hours of the morning sometime during the long weeks of preparation for D-Day, but everything between his first, badly thrown fist and the weight of Compton pinning him to the wall while they rutted together was warped and indistinct through the hazy lens of whiskey.
That it kept happening with such alarming regularity was another troubling conundrum entirely.
“Oh,” Lew moaned, his whole body singing as Compton edged a third finger in, tonguing the head of Lew’s prick and tugging indelicately along the shaft. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”
Lew gasped and shivered through the first shallow wave of his orgasm, swearing the air blue when Compton pulled off with enough warning to leave him spilling desperately onto his own belly. His knees went to jelly as his cock pulsed, legs collapsing down off the bed so his heels skidded against the floor. He nearly caught Compton in the nose on the way, which would have been a pleasant accident, but he ducked to the side just in time.
Compton pulled his fingers free without ceremony while Lew was still lightheaded and trembling with aftershocks, which was just unpleasant enough to bleed through the dizzy joy of coming so spectacularly. Lew made a vague, unhappy sound that Compton ignored in favor of clambering up onto the bed, straddling Lew’s hips as he worked his cock in a quick, tight fist. He expected that Compton would rub off in the mess on his abdomen as he had a handful of times before—too impatient to wait for Lew to regain enough of his faculties to manage a decent tongue-bath—so he didn’t notice Compton knee-walking his way up Lew’s body until he had both Lew’s arms neatly clamped at the shoulders, pinned to his sides with the pressure of Compton’s thighs.
“What are you - ” Lew started to ask, voice so thick and slurred with pleasure that the words all ran together. It only took him a second to figure it out, between the sharp, satisfied grin already splitting Compton’s face and the pointed angle of his stroke as he touched himself, arousal gusting in musky, alkaline bursts of scent with every faintly squelching pull.
“Compton!” Lew yelped. “Compton, you son of a bitch, don’t - ”
Lew screwed his eyes shut and turned his face into the sheets as best he could, aflame from his crown to his heels with a rage that made his stomach drop and his throat burn. He caught Compton’s release on his chin, his neck, the plane of his cheek, while Compton groaned deep and laughed breathlessly above him.
“Goddamnit,” Lew gritted furiously past his clenched teeth a few long seconds later, when Compton had stilled. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to risk the pain of catching Compton’s spend in such a ferociously tender place.
“Told you,” Compton breathed triumphantly, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. He was lax and loose after his orgasm, bodyweight sinking heavy against Lew’s ribs and making his breath catch tight in his chest. Lew tried to buck him off but even in the lazy wake of coming Compton was about as malleable as a steel beam.
“Get the hell off me,” Lew snarled after a few seconds’ fruitless writhing. Compton laughed again and tipped bonelessly over to one side. Lew tried to swat at him, but he was a questionable shot on a good day and his current level of visibility certainly wasn’t helping matters.
He sat up as soon as he was clear of Compton’s control, squinting out through one eye as he staggered his way through the detritus of their army-issue wardrobe toward the washbasin on the dresser against the far wall. Lew had filled it just that morning in service of a shave, though the water was stagnant and long-chilled by now. He splashed it up onto his face anyway, mopping Compton’s spend off with his hand and scowling at the sticky slide as it diluted and dissolved.
“I could demote you for this,” he grumbled, digging at his eye with the heel of his palm and scrubbing his wet fingers over the beard-dappled plane of his jaw. Compton snorted distantly.
“I’d love to see you figure out how to write that up.”
“‘Conduct unbefitting’ ought to do the trick.”
“You know, Nixon,” Compton offered with the thoughtful air of an amateur philosopher, maintaining a cheerful obliviousness to Lew’s grousing, “if you learned to enjoy the afterglow a little you might not be such a miserable bear all the time.”
“I like the afterglow plenty,” Lew snapped, pulling his wet fingers through his hair and grimacing when he found come there, too. “I just don’t want to share it with you.”
He slowly squinted his eye open, swearing at the sudden sting and squeezing it shut again. He cupped more icy water in his palm and did his best to rinse the offended area, scrubbing carefully and digging his thumb into the corner of his eye socket hard enough that a fine spray of colors burst across the dark field of his vision.
When Lew finally managed to blink without issue a few short seconds later he glared past his waterlogged lashes at Compton’s reflection in the mirror. He was sprawled diagonally across Lew’s mussed bed looking thoroughly unbothered by all of the vitriol in Lew’s gaze, arms folded placidly beneath his head with one leg on the floor, the other bent up beside him.
“Suit yourself,” Compton shrugged, scratching at his belly and peering over at the clock on the wall as he heaved a long, satiated sigh. “I should probably be going, anyway. Shift change is in ten.”
“Yes,” Lew agreed immediately, waving an arm expansively in the direction of the door. “Go, get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”
“What?” Compton asked, tone sly and taunting as he pushed himself up off the bed and picked his clothes out from the mess on the rug. “Tonight or ever?”
“Ever,” Lew snapped. Compton rolled his eyes, making markedly quicker work of dressing than he had of disrobing, until he was tugging his garrison cap neatly over his short, sweaty curls and flashing Lew a broad grin where he was still hunched over the washbasin, swabbing uselessly at his half-soaked hair.
“How do I look?” Compton asked when he was finished, one hand perched on the doorknob.
The short answer was that he looked about the same as always, if a little redder in the face, but Lew replied sharply, “Like an asshole.”
Compton made a thoughtful noise and gestured to the mirror. “I think you might have me confused with your reflection, there, Nixon. I’m the strapping blond fellow, not the sour-faced son of a bitch moaning about a free orgasm.”
Lew pressed his mouth into a thin, angry line and groped for the metal pitcher next to the washbowl, wheeling around without a word and hurling it with force. It clattered loudly against the doorjamb, neatly missing its target as Compton had already slipped out into the hallway on a wave of delighted laughter.
“See you ‘round, Nix,” he said amiably, not bothering to pull the door shut behind him.
“Like hell,” Lew muttered. He tugged fitfully at the dark fringe falling in sopping curls over his forehead for another few seconds before giving the whole endeavor up as a bad job.
A quick glance down at his body confirmed that the rest of him was in similar disarray—come splattered in a gloopy, half-dry film across his belly, legs already purpling with bruises, pale skin gone blotchy in great, ugly red patches where Compton’s two-day beard had rubbed it raw. Lew grimaced and groped for the nearest article of discarded, muddy green clothing. Naturally, he came up with his own shorts, peppered with damp spots, courtesy Lew’s earlier excitement, that had all gone gummy and cold with the chill of the room. He swiped clumsily at the mess all over himself, huffing muttered curses upon Compton’s person under his breath the whole while, but it was little use. He was going to have to shower in the morning.
Goddamn Compton, he thought darkly, heaving a defeated sigh and abandoning the makeshift rag to the pile of misbegotten laundry slumped all across the floor. He went slinking over to the bed with little grace and even less dignity and flopped face-first onto the mattress with a groan that echoed through his whole body.
The bedclothes smelled strongly of sex and faintly of booze, with the undertone of whatever cheap cologne Compton wore. Lew wouldn’t call it comforting, necessarily, but the scent was familiar, at least, and wrung out as he was he expected sleep wouldn’t be long coming. A mild silver lining, but Lew wasn’t too proud to take what he could get in this particular circumstance.
Besides, he considered optimistically, as he slipped into the foggy doze of the vaguely inebriated, there was always the chance that Compton might buy a ticket back stateside on their next deployment. It was an unkind thought to have about a fellow soldier, certainly, but it brought Lew peace enough that he fell away completely with a smile on his face.
Buck Compton/Lewis Nixon
The real tragedy in all of this, Lew considered a little desperately, awash on a wave of pleasure that soaked through to his bones, was that Compton was exactly as good between the sheets as advertised.
Author's Note: This was written as a part of theeasycotroopers Rare Pair Meme for the lovely
This is probably less sexy and more sassy comic banter than you had in mind, but I hope you like it even so!
Extra special thanks to
Title is from Lorde’s “Biting Down,” which is also this piece’s unofficial theme song. All remaining errors are mine. Enjoy here, or read on AO3 if you prefer!
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Lew hissed as his back hit the wall.
Compton, crowding up close in front of him with both hands fisted in Lew’s shirt, flashed the too-broad grin that everybody seemed to find so charmingly winsome. Lew didn’t really understand the draw—beyond the straight white teeth and handsome dimples Compton suffered the same self-aggrandizing conceit that blemished the good humor of every privileged son high on his own sense of entitlement. It was a flaw that Lew knew intimately, an old Nixon standby he glimpsed whenever he caught his reflection in a mirror, or a window, or the warm amber surface of a glass of whiskey, served neat.
“You say that every time.”
“Yeah, well, you are,” Lew insisted hotly. He gave a moment’s spirited struggle against Compton’s hold and was vaguely disappointed but not at all surprised when it did nothing to shake the other man loose. He thought absently, and not for the first time, that this must be a little like how it would feel to wrestle with Dick—pinned and helpless to do anything about it while he pointedly ignored all the places his body burned to touch.
“Suppose you oughta know,” Compton breathed smugly against Lew’s jaw. “I never met a bigger bastard than Lewis Nixon III.”
“Fuck you,” Lew spat, leaning in to scrape his teeth along the stubbled line of Compton’s throat. Compton sucked a breath and groaned deep in his chest. Lew could feel it under his tongue—the wanting pit of heat in his belly pulsed with the reverberations.
“That’s the idea,” Compton agreed huskily, that all-American grin taking on a distinctly lascivious slant. He moved one of his hands up to tangle in Lew’s hair, pulling so tight it made Lew’s eyes sting, and yanked Lew’s head back, forcing his chin up while Lew twisted against his grip. He waited until Lew settled enough to meet his eye before he asked, “You planning to cooperate at any point or did you want to keep being difficult?”
“I’m being perfectly amenable. Maybe you’re just not as good at this as you think you are.”
“Look,” Compton said, unimpressed, “we both know who you’d rather have up here pushing you around, but there’s that old chestnut about begging and choosing to take into consideration, alright?”
Lew’s face flooded with heat, stomach twisting queasily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Compton’s face went lax with pity under the familiar sly irritation and he started, “Nixon, come on - ”
Lew curled his fists in Compton’s lapel and cut him off with a sharp, fierce tug.
“Shut up,” he snarled, and Compton gave him a long, speaking look before he obligingly leaned in, ducked his head, and brought their mouths together. It wasn’t a kiss—too brutal by half and lacking any of the finesse that might merit the distinction—but it sent sparks out to Lew’s fingertips all the same. Compton licked his way forcibly past Lew’s teeth and Lew considered biting him on principle, probably would have if Compton hadn’t had the wherewithal to drive his thigh forward at the same time.
In a contest between fruitlessly punishing Compton for his characteristic arrogance and chasing his own pleasure, Lew erred on the side that had him rolling his hips against Compton’s thigh, seeking friction along the line of his cock where it ached in his trousers. Compton moaned into his mouth when Lew rocked against him and Lew did it again, tilting his face just enough that he managed to pull away from the decidedly-not-a-kiss and close his teeth hard over the blade of Compton’s jaw.
“Ah!” Compton’s whole body jerked as he flinched back, scrubbing at his chin and swearing around a gust of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, “Fuck,you’re a bastard. You know that’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Remember that next time you try to kiss me like your sweetheart.”
Compton’s grin unfurled slow and sticky like a fresh-pulled ribbon of saltwater taffy. It was patently unfair that a man so pale of feature he looked like a bleached-out photograph could wear a flush so well. Lew, meanwhile, had been doomed by virtue of inheritance to flood ruddy and blotchy all the way down to his knees anytime he sank too deep into his cups or an emotion looked at him crosswise.
“I thought you liked my mouth,” Compton said knowingly.
“I don’t like any part of you,” Lew corrected, baring his teeth in a sneer. “I just know there are better things you could be doing with it than giving me the Rhett Butler treatment.”
“If you’re that opposed to a little lip service we could always just stop.” Compton rocked his hips forward and ground his thigh against Lew’s cock, smirking at the way Lew’s breath caught around a moan in the back of his throat.
“Didn’t figure you for the type to welsh on a deal,” Lew sighed, straining against every point where Compton had him pinned. “Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. Nothing good ever came out of the West Coast.”
“Yeah.” The easy agreement threw Lew for half a second until Compton added thoughtfully, “You went to boarding school out there, right?”
Lew scowled, shoving at Compton’s shoulders, and Compton surprised him again by buckling under the sudden motion. He stepped back, tugging Lew forward by his shirtfront so that he stumbled onto the rag rug splayed across the floor. Lew tried to get his feet back under him but Compton was swinging him around with gusto, manhandling him just enough to keep him off balance until his knees hit the edge of the narrow mattress. Compton held him up over it for one spiteful, victorious second and then knocked him back onto the bed with predatory glee.
The iron frame rattled under Lew’s weight, juddering against the wall. Lew took a moment to catch his breath and spared some gratitude for the good fortune that had seen him billeted privately with a host who spent more time away than at home, lending aid to the war effort in some way or another that Lew had never bothered to ascertain in any great detail.
“Jesus Christ,” he snapped when he felt like he could breathe again, pushing up onto his elbows and glowering at Compton where he had taken it upon himself to start stripping down in the middle of the room. “You trying to get us caught?”
“Nobody here but us, Nixon,” Compton said, holding his arms out and gesturing to the empty room around them. The soft glow of the lamplight coming from the old camping lantern on the side table flattered the bared musculature of his arms to devastating effect. Lew considered, for a brief and petty moment, that he might just reach his leg out and kick the damn thing over.
“I’ve got neighbors,” he protested. Compton rolled his eyes and tugged his belt free of its buckle, dropping it to the floor where his shirt and undershirt had already been discarded in a heap.
“You’ve also got a reputation,” Compton supplied easily.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Compton rolled his eyes again. He seemed to do that a lot when he was in Lew’s company.
“Everybody knows you like a good time, Nix,” he explained slowly, prowling toward the bed as he unbuttoned his fly. “So how about you relax a little and let me show you one, alright?”
“Making an awful lot of assumptions about your competence, there, Compton,” Lew sneered, just to be contrary.
“Maybe,” Compton allowed, shucking his trousers. He was already stiff in his shorts, one hand set against his hip while he used the other to gesture to where Lew was draped across the bed, still fully kitted out except for his cap—abandoned on the way up the stairs—and the front tails of his shirt—pulled free in the earlier maelstrom of Compton’s roving fingers. “I’ve never had any complaints, but then I’ve never tried to suck a fellow off through his ODs before, either.”
“First time for everything,” Lew said unconcernedly, making no move to further disrobe.
Compton narrowed his eyes, palmed himself through his shorts, and warned, “I’ll pull off onto your face, if that’s all you’re gonna give me.”
“You can try,” Lew agreed, and let himself flop back onto the bed with a snort. “If you thought that bite on your chin was bad you’re in for a helluva surprise.”
“At least take your boots off, you lazy son of a bitch,” Compton sighed, stepping forward to stand between Lew’s knees. “I didn’t follow you up here to play valet.”
“Sure,” Lew drawled, not bothering to sit up. “And I suppose I’ll just happen to run face first into your dick on my way down there, right?”
“Well you’re certainly not going to run into yours.”
It was obvious from the edge to his tone that Compton was referring to the unspoken subject of Lew’s doomed infatuation rather than the physical impracticality of Lew somehow stumbling upon his own anatomy. They didn’t usually talk about his clandestine affection, at least not so overtly. Compton seemed to understand that engaging Lew directly on the matter would invite legitimate and immediate harm unto his person, but every once in awhile he grew bold enough to deal Lew’s secret a glancing blow and they’d been at the pub long enough this evening to bolster their courage in the worst of ways.
Lew gritted his teeth and stared furiously up at the ceiling, entombing them both in a long, frigid moment of silence to spare himself the hassle of sitting up and socking Compton one right in the teeth.
“Besides, if I wanted you to suck me off I’d hardly have to trick you into it,” Compton continued with a smirk, before the silence had stretched on quite long enough to be uncomfortable. “Everybody knows how you like to run your mouth.”
“Fuck you.” Lew dropped an arm over his eyes and jerked a knee in toward Compton, hoping to catch him on his bare thigh hard enough to bruise. Compton ducked out of the way of his flailing limbs, laughing under his breath, and then leaned back in once the danger had passed and tucked his fingers over Lew’s waistband.
“I was aiming for the other way around,” he clarified, slipping Lew’s belt free of its buckle and casually untucking his undershirt. “If I’ve got to undress you, I think it’s only fair I get a proper lay out of the deal.”
Lew grunted noncommittally rather than protesting or batting him away, and Compton took that as permission to press onward, making quick work of the fastenings on Lew’s trousers and tugging them down his thighs. He touched his palm cautiously to the exposed plane of Lew’s abdomen, fingers brushing carefully through the dark trail of hair meandering down past his navel and coming to rest just above the line of his shorts.
“You’re really not going to help?” Compton asked a little incredulously, slipping his thumb under the elastic to drag back and forth. “Not even a little bit?”
“You’re the one who’s so keen to mess around,” Lew accused, squinting out from beneath the line of his arm. Compton arched one imperious eyebrow.
“Yeah? You got something better to do?” he asked, cupping his free hand over Lew’s cock where it was tenting his shorts and squeezing just this side of too hard. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”
“Christ,” Lew swore and bucked up into Compton’s grip, heat pooling low in his belly even through the frisson of pain. He reached down to shove at Compton’s arm, hissing through his teeth, “Fine. Fine! Just, back up, will you? Give a guy a little room.”
Compton held his hands out and took a few slow steps back, eyebrows raised and mouth gone slack with amusement in a way that made Lew’s skin prickle hot.
He sat up, scowling, and bent forward to undo the laces of his jump boots, kicking them aside without ceremony and toeing off his socks. He fumbled through undoing the buttons of his shirt, swearing under his breath every now and again when his whiskey-soaked dexterity failed him, until he finally managed to shrug it off along with his suspenders. He tossed the shirt into the corner, followed in quick succession by his undershirt and dog tags. Compton watched in attentive silence as Lew shimmied awkwardly out of his trousers and shorts, one hand tucked past his waistband and working his length in slow, absent strokes while he took in the spectacle.
“Well?” Lew demanded when he was finished, leaning his weight back on his hands and feeling more wanton than he preferred lying there naked with his legs spread, cock hard and already leaking against his belly. There was a vague, embarrassed heat burning in his face that started to spill in molten waves down his chest, mottled and stinging.
Compton’s grin sharpened, pale eyes gone glassy with desire. He clicked his tongue and said, “That wasn’t much of a show.”
“What am I, Rita Hayworth?” Lew groused, reaching down to wrap his hand around his aching prick and give it a mollifying squeeze. He pressed his thumb up under the head and rocked into his own grip, breathing, “You want a show, go see the goddamn USO.”
Compton ducked his head, huffing a laugh, and dropped his shorts like they were made of lead.
“You’re lucky you’re decent in bed.” He straightened up and stalked back over to smirk down at Lew with his hands on his hips, cock full and flushed, standing at attention in a thatch of blonde curls. “Nobody’d have any reason to put up with you otherwise.”
“I’m excellent in bed,” Lew corrected, though he could begrudgingly admit that Compton’s assessment of his other redeeming qualities wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Lew was tolerated amongst the battalion because he was usually good at his job, he was occasionally good for a laugh, and he was always good for a round. The only person who regularly sought and encouraged his company rather than merely allowing it as an occupational necessity was Dick, who seemed, against all sense and reason, to actively delight in Lew’s presence in his own understated way. Their friendship remained a mystery to Lew, who felt himself unconscionably lucky to have swindled a man of Dick’s caliber into such ardent camaraderie and was happy to reap the benefits thereof for as long as he could without pursuing any greater investigation into the matter that might risk running Dick off.
This thing with Compton, strangely, made more sense, at least by standard measures of acquaintanceship. Like called to like, after all, and Buck Compton was just as big a bastard as Lew at the end of the day, though he was undoubtedly better at camouflaging it.
More importantly, he was indiscriminate enough in his intimate leanings not to mind coming with another cock in hand—or occasionally in his mouth—which dovetailed nicely with Lew’s preference for companionship that wasn’t afraid to push him around a little. They weren’t friends and likely never would be, if Lew had his way about it, but he could at least appreciate Compton’s raw athleticism and the many creative ways he put his body to good use in the bedroom. Not that he would ever express said admiration aloud. Compton’s ego was plenty to contend with as it was.
“I think you’re overselling yourself there, Nixon,” Compton snorted.
“Yeah? Well, how about you come down here and prove it?”
Compton flashed him the long-suffering look of a man who knew very well he was being goaded but had elected to go along with it anyway and folded gracefully to the floor. He hooked Lew under the knees and dragged Lew’s legs up over his shoulders, yanking him forward none too gently until Lew’s ass was hanging half off the mattress and he’d given up touching himself in favor of clutching the bedclothes for support.
“What was that you were saying about my mouth a few minutes ago?” Compton asked. His breath was hot against Lew’s skin and he didn’t wait for an answer before licking a broad stripe up Lew’s cock and sucking him down.
Lew moaned and made to buck up into the tight, wet heat but Compton held him fast, an arm wrapped around either of Lew’s legs and fingers digging bruises into the meat of his thighs. The real tragedy in all of this, Lew considered a little desperately, awash on a wave of pleasure that soaked through to his bones, was that Compton was exactly as good between the sheets as advertised. He was pushy and impolite about his desires, certainly, but Lew was hardly meek in pursuit of his own and would happily abide a little rudeness in the bedroom when it left him ridden hard and put away wet in exactly the way he liked best.
“Damn,” he breathed, falling back against the mattress as the slick slide of his foreskin over Compton’s tongue sent white heat licking through his belly. Compton made a low, satisfied sound that rumbled through his mouth and Lew dug his heels none too gently into Compton’s back, pulling Compton down and pushing his hips up as best he could in such an intractable position, trying to ride the vibrations. By some miracle of leverage he managed to hit the back of Compton’s throat, gasping at the soft, wet give even as Compton choked and pulled off, burying a cough against his shoulder.
Lew leaned up onto his elbows again at the interruption, groping blearily for Compton’s head and trying without much success to force it back down.
Compton swatted at Lew’s questing fingers and delivered a sharp, stinging bite to the curve of his inner thigh. There’d be a welt there later, Lew was certain. The thought of it made him shudder.
“Quit that.” Compton’s voice was hoarse and taut with warning in a way that made all the fine, dark hairs on Lew’s body rise with animal alertness. “I’m doing you a courtesy here.”
Lew glared down the length of his torso and past his cock, which was curved up against his belly and dripping precome, flushed blood-dark and shiny with Compton’s spit even in the low lamplight. “I’ll be sure to write you a commendation for exceptional etiquette.”
Compton sighed through his nose, flicked his gaze irritably toward the heavens, and pinched Lew, hard, right at the seam of his hip. Lew yelped, his whole body spasming, and tried without much success to wriggle his way out of Compton’s hold, swearing a blue streak under his breath all the while.
“You got anything?” Compton asked a few minutes later, when Lew had lapsed into a tense and mutinous silence. Compton’s chin rested awkwardly against Lew’s knee as he surveyed the scatter of uniform pieces strewn across the floor. He didn’t bother waiting for a response before he started pawing haphazardly through Lew’s discarded trousers, which suited Lew just fine as he had petulantly decided against providing one.
One leg momentarily freed, Lew posted his foot against the edge of the mattress with his knee bent up toward the ceiling. The other was still hung over Compton’s shoulder, pinned in place by the arm Compton had wrapped absently around it, though he didn’t seem particularly concerned with keeping it there while he rifled through Lew’s pockets. He came upon the tin of Vaseline that Lew kept on-hand without much difficulty and spent another few minutes digging around until he huffed a small, frustrated breath and asked, “Rubber?”
Lew blinked up at the ceiling and didn’t say a word. He could feel the weight of Compton’s gaze on him, heavy and expectant. Compton gave him a few seconds of grace and then, when he understood that Lew had no intention of responding, used the arm he still had twined around Lew’s leg to shake it back and forth, demanding his attention.
“Nixon, you got a rubber?”
“Fresh out,” Lew provided shortly, still staring at the water-stained wood overhead.
A few of his army-issued prophylactics had facilitated tremendously satisfying liaisons with a young lady in Aldbourne who was dangerously good with her fingers, and the rest had been provided to Compton himself by one measure or another during the handful of furious, frantic couplings they’d fallen into before shipping out to Utah Beach. The regiment had only landed back in Southampton a couple of days ago and there’d hardly been opportunity to resupply while the 506th was skulking about northern France, engaging Kraut soldiers in skirmish after bloody skirmish.
“Damn,” Compton muttered.
“Could have brought your own when you decided to come sniffing around looking to play tail-gunner.”
Compton shot Lew a flat look. “You practically begged me to follow you home from the pub.”
“Hearsay,” Lew replied archly. He considered Compton for a moment, narrow-eyed, and announced, “I’m not going bare. Too much clean-up.”
“Right.” Compton curled a hand around Lew’s ankle where he had his foot up on the bed and gave it a pointed squeeze, making the bones grind just a little. “Because God forbid you should bathe more than twice a month now that we have the luxury.”
“You know, Compton, you sound a lot better with your mouth full.”
Compton snorted, arching an eyebrow. “Does that usually work for you?”
“Never had any trouble back home.”
“‘course not, with all those Manhattan gadabouts and blockhead Yalies you were swimming in.” Compton grinned up at Lew, affecting a piss-poor mockery of a crisp-edged blue blood East Coast drawl made all the more obscene by the rasp lingering in his throat, and quipped, “Better get back to it, then, old boy, for I do so loathe to display myself at a disadvantage.”
“You could learn a thing or two from them,” Lew replied meanly, while Compton fished the Vaseline up off the floor and unscrewed the lid. The heat in his belly throbbed when Compton dipped two of his broad fingers into the tin, coating them liberally. “You’ll never nail down a husband if you don’t flatter your feminine attributes.”
“You would know,” Compton agreed easily, abandoning his grip on the leg Lew had over his shoulder and pushing it up so that Lew had both feet planted on the mattress with his knees splayed out wide. Lew’s gut twisted, face flaring hot and a little ashamed to be on such prominent display at the same time that the need under his skin started to boil in earnest. Compton didn’t seem to notice Lew’s discomfort, or more likely just didn’t care, drinking in the sight of Lew’s spread thighs and aching prick with a thirst that had him licking his lips.
“Keep your hands to yourself or I’m going to stop being nice,” he warned. It was something of an empty threat, as Compton had never seen fit to treat him especially gently so far as Lew could tell, but he wouldn’t argue when the result was Compton curling his dry hand around the base of Lew’s cock and ducking down to take him into his mouth again.
Lew bit back a gasp at the pressure and fisted his hands in the sheets, knuckles so tight they felt a half second from splitting while he fought the urge to reach down and cup the back of Compton’s head, hold it in place so Lew could push up into the slick vice of his throat.
Compton worked him that way for awhile, driving his hand up with a twist and bobbing his head down until his mouth met his knuckles, then drawing back again, stubbled jaw scraping rough against Lew’s skin in occasional, tingling slivers of contact. Every pass of Compton’s tongue pushed Lew a little deeper into the thick, sticky heat pulsing under his skin until he felt submerged in molasses, head swimming, fingers flexing in the sheets to keep from yanking shamelessly at Compton’s close shorn hair.
He was considering the wisdom of loosening his grip just long enough to get a hand around his cock when the knuckles of Compton’s other hand nudged his balls and the pads of his slicked fingers pressed, firm and searching, against Lew’s hole. Lew moaned despite himself—a wanting, warbling thing that trembled pitifully toward the ceiling—and wrangled just enough breath to insist, “Hey, no. Not without a rubber.”
Compton squeezed hard at the base of Lew’s dick and pulled off just enough to gripe hoarsely, “Christ’s sake, Nixon, I know.” His fingers were still there, rubbing in slick strokes across Lew’s hole, calloused pads catching promisingly at his rim even as Compton glowered. “I never met anyone so stupid they kept stepping on the chance to get theirs first. Not until you, you stubborn jackass.”
“Your pillow talk could use some finessing,” Lew muttered. His whole body was strung piano-wire taut, thighs shaking with the effort of not pushing back onto Compton’s fingers or rocking up into his too-tight grip.
“Oh yeah?” Compton snapped, grin gone vicious. He looked torn between laughing at Lew and slugging him. “How’s this: shut up and let me get you off. I want to get back before guard change.”
“Charming,” Lew hissed, breath punching out in a sharp gust as Compton pushed his fingers forward. They slid in up to the first knuckle with little resistance and Lew hated himself for arching into it, back bowing up off the bed.
“You told me not to treat you like my sweetheart,” Compton said ominously, and then went back to work.
His fingers spread and curled, sinking into Lew just a little too fast, pushing past the slight sting of entry with practiced ease and teasing out the spot that had Lew bucking into Compton’s mouth and tossing his head against the bedsheets with all the accuracy of a celebrated sniper.
“Fuck,” Lew gasped, rolling his hips against Compton’s fingers and shaking under the sloppy drag of his tongue. He was more sobbing than breathing by this point, body sheened with sweat and hair curling damp at the nape of his neck, his forehead, his temples. “I hate you. I hate you so goddamn much.”
Compton made an amused humming sound around Lew’s cock that sent pleasure quivering up his spine and Lew dug his heels into the mattress in an attempt to steady the resultant tremor jittering its way through his frame.
It was true, was the thing. There was little about Compton that Lew liked and most of it began and ended with the unusually combustible chemistry that saturated all the spaces between them, sitting thick in the air like methane just waiting to catch a spark. Beyond the expert curve of his fingers or his laudable skill with his tongue, Compton was arrogant, conceited, and selfish—all of Lew’s own worst qualities reflected back at him from a G.I. so square of jaw, broad of shoulder, and gregarious of nature as to be almost offensive. Compton was, by all reports, a perfectly passable sergeant, but reasonable competence in the field had never spared a man Lew’s ire and that wasn’t about to change for some schmuck from UCLA, no matter how much the men enjoyed his company.
Lew had fumed for days when Compton first showed up in Aldbourne, slotting into Easy like he belonged there and wandering shoulder to shoulder with Dick while they laughed about their shared experiences with school sports. How he and Lew had fallen into bed together remained something of a mystery—Lew had vague recollections of brawling in the alley behind a pub in the small hours of the morning sometime during the long weeks of preparation for D-Day, but everything between his first, badly thrown fist and the weight of Compton pinning him to the wall while they rutted together was warped and indistinct through the hazy lens of whiskey.
That it kept happening with such alarming regularity was another troubling conundrum entirely.
“Oh,” Lew moaned, his whole body singing as Compton edged a third finger in, tonguing the head of Lew’s prick and tugging indelicately along the shaft. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”
Lew gasped and shivered through the first shallow wave of his orgasm, swearing the air blue when Compton pulled off with enough warning to leave him spilling desperately onto his own belly. His knees went to jelly as his cock pulsed, legs collapsing down off the bed so his heels skidded against the floor. He nearly caught Compton in the nose on the way, which would have been a pleasant accident, but he ducked to the side just in time.
Compton pulled his fingers free without ceremony while Lew was still lightheaded and trembling with aftershocks, which was just unpleasant enough to bleed through the dizzy joy of coming so spectacularly. Lew made a vague, unhappy sound that Compton ignored in favor of clambering up onto the bed, straddling Lew’s hips as he worked his cock in a quick, tight fist. He expected that Compton would rub off in the mess on his abdomen as he had a handful of times before—too impatient to wait for Lew to regain enough of his faculties to manage a decent tongue-bath—so he didn’t notice Compton knee-walking his way up Lew’s body until he had both Lew’s arms neatly clamped at the shoulders, pinned to his sides with the pressure of Compton’s thighs.
“What are you - ” Lew started to ask, voice so thick and slurred with pleasure that the words all ran together. It only took him a second to figure it out, between the sharp, satisfied grin already splitting Compton’s face and the pointed angle of his stroke as he touched himself, arousal gusting in musky, alkaline bursts of scent with every faintly squelching pull.
“Compton!” Lew yelped. “Compton, you son of a bitch, don’t - ”
Lew screwed his eyes shut and turned his face into the sheets as best he could, aflame from his crown to his heels with a rage that made his stomach drop and his throat burn. He caught Compton’s release on his chin, his neck, the plane of his cheek, while Compton groaned deep and laughed breathlessly above him.
“Goddamnit,” Lew gritted furiously past his clenched teeth a few long seconds later, when Compton had stilled. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to risk the pain of catching Compton’s spend in such a ferociously tender place.
“Told you,” Compton breathed triumphantly, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. He was lax and loose after his orgasm, bodyweight sinking heavy against Lew’s ribs and making his breath catch tight in his chest. Lew tried to buck him off but even in the lazy wake of coming Compton was about as malleable as a steel beam.
“Get the hell off me,” Lew snarled after a few seconds’ fruitless writhing. Compton laughed again and tipped bonelessly over to one side. Lew tried to swat at him, but he was a questionable shot on a good day and his current level of visibility certainly wasn’t helping matters.
He sat up as soon as he was clear of Compton’s control, squinting out through one eye as he staggered his way through the detritus of their army-issue wardrobe toward the washbasin on the dresser against the far wall. Lew had filled it just that morning in service of a shave, though the water was stagnant and long-chilled by now. He splashed it up onto his face anyway, mopping Compton’s spend off with his hand and scowling at the sticky slide as it diluted and dissolved.
“I could demote you for this,” he grumbled, digging at his eye with the heel of his palm and scrubbing his wet fingers over the beard-dappled plane of his jaw. Compton snorted distantly.
“I’d love to see you figure out how to write that up.”
“‘Conduct unbefitting’ ought to do the trick.”
“You know, Nixon,” Compton offered with the thoughtful air of an amateur philosopher, maintaining a cheerful obliviousness to Lew’s grousing, “if you learned to enjoy the afterglow a little you might not be such a miserable bear all the time.”
“I like the afterglow plenty,” Lew snapped, pulling his wet fingers through his hair and grimacing when he found come there, too. “I just don’t want to share it with you.”
He slowly squinted his eye open, swearing at the sudden sting and squeezing it shut again. He cupped more icy water in his palm and did his best to rinse the offended area, scrubbing carefully and digging his thumb into the corner of his eye socket hard enough that a fine spray of colors burst across the dark field of his vision.
When Lew finally managed to blink without issue a few short seconds later he glared past his waterlogged lashes at Compton’s reflection in the mirror. He was sprawled diagonally across Lew’s mussed bed looking thoroughly unbothered by all of the vitriol in Lew’s gaze, arms folded placidly beneath his head with one leg on the floor, the other bent up beside him.
“Suit yourself,” Compton shrugged, scratching at his belly and peering over at the clock on the wall as he heaved a long, satiated sigh. “I should probably be going, anyway. Shift change is in ten.”
“Yes,” Lew agreed immediately, waving an arm expansively in the direction of the door. “Go, get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”
“What?” Compton asked, tone sly and taunting as he pushed himself up off the bed and picked his clothes out from the mess on the rug. “Tonight or ever?”
“Ever,” Lew snapped. Compton rolled his eyes, making markedly quicker work of dressing than he had of disrobing, until he was tugging his garrison cap neatly over his short, sweaty curls and flashing Lew a broad grin where he was still hunched over the washbasin, swabbing uselessly at his half-soaked hair.
“How do I look?” Compton asked when he was finished, one hand perched on the doorknob.
The short answer was that he looked about the same as always, if a little redder in the face, but Lew replied sharply, “Like an asshole.”
Compton made a thoughtful noise and gestured to the mirror. “I think you might have me confused with your reflection, there, Nixon. I’m the strapping blond fellow, not the sour-faced son of a bitch moaning about a free orgasm.”
Lew pressed his mouth into a thin, angry line and groped for the metal pitcher next to the washbowl, wheeling around without a word and hurling it with force. It clattered loudly against the doorjamb, neatly missing its target as Compton had already slipped out into the hallway on a wave of delighted laughter.
“See you ‘round, Nix,” he said amiably, not bothering to pull the door shut behind him.
“Like hell,” Lew muttered. He tugged fitfully at the dark fringe falling in sopping curls over his forehead for another few seconds before giving the whole endeavor up as a bad job.
A quick glance down at his body confirmed that the rest of him was in similar disarray—come splattered in a gloopy, half-dry film across his belly, legs already purpling with bruises, pale skin gone blotchy in great, ugly red patches where Compton’s two-day beard had rubbed it raw. Lew grimaced and groped for the nearest article of discarded, muddy green clothing. Naturally, he came up with his own shorts, peppered with damp spots, courtesy Lew’s earlier excitement, that had all gone gummy and cold with the chill of the room. He swiped clumsily at the mess all over himself, huffing muttered curses upon Compton’s person under his breath the whole while, but it was little use. He was going to have to shower in the morning.
Goddamn Compton, he thought darkly, heaving a defeated sigh and abandoning the makeshift rag to the pile of misbegotten laundry slumped all across the floor. He went slinking over to the bed with little grace and even less dignity and flopped face-first onto the mattress with a groan that echoed through his whole body.
The bedclothes smelled strongly of sex and faintly of booze, with the undertone of whatever cheap cologne Compton wore. Lew wouldn’t call it comforting, necessarily, but the scent was familiar, at least, and wrung out as he was he expected sleep wouldn’t be long coming. A mild silver lining, but Lew wasn’t too proud to take what he could get in this particular circumstance.
Besides, he considered optimistically, as he slipped into the foggy doze of the vaguely inebriated, there was always the chance that Compton might buy a ticket back stateside on their next deployment. It was an unkind thought to have about a fellow soldier, certainly, but it brought Lew peace enough that he fell away completely with a smile on his face.