The whispers of your fingertips spoke the words I understood; WEBGOTT
Title: The whispers of your fingertips spoke the words I understood
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Liebgott/Webster
Word Count: 1.484
Disclaimer: The TV series "Band of Brothers" is property of HBO, Playtone, Dreamworks and Stephen E. Ambrose, no infringement of copyright or disrespect to these heroes is intended.
Summary: Joe really ain’t stupid, but sometimes, he doesn’t understand a single word Webster’s saying. It’s even worse than German people talking to him; them he understands almost always, but from time to time, when Webster opens his mouth, Liebgott’s mind gets lost because What the fuck is he saying?
Author's Note: I dedicate this fic to dana_fields. She was the first one to read it and loved it. If you guys do, too, please leave me comments! You know they make me happy. ;]
The whispers of your fingertips spoke the words I understood
Joseph D. Liebgott ain’t stupid, he really ain’t - plus, he’d kick everybody’s goddamned ass if they ever dared to say otherwise.
Joe really ain’t stupid, but sometimes, he doesn’t understand a single word Webster’s saying. It’s even worse than German people talking to him; them he understands almost always, but from time to time, when Webster opens his mouth, Liebgott’s mind gets lost because What the fuck is he saying?
David Kenyon Webster had been studying English Literature in Harvard before he left to join the paratroops, but still, the one thing he knew he was never going to stop was writing. So, of course, he had read a lot of books and knew a lot of words the other men probably had never heard of. When he talks, he still uses a lot of these words so he doesn’t forget them, even though the men he’s fighting with always ask what the meaning of those words is.
Something is bound to go wrong when Webster’s talking to Liebgott; Webster using too many words, Liebgott not knowing enough - Web studying literature, Lieb studying how to kill people.
In Austria, when they’re watching a sunrise one morning, sitting in the grass, not quite awake yet - or maybe almost asleep - Webster whispers, “This feels like a book elegantly bound but you just can't read it yet.”
Liebgott turns to him, his eyes full of fury and rage, his mouth set in a thin line, and he growls, “Ya tryin’a say I’m stupid?”
Webster’s mouth falls open, and as he’s still trying to find a way to explain to Liebgott what he meant, Lieb’s already scrambling onto his feet, angrily stomping away. “Fuck you, college boy! Ain’t ev’rybody well-educated like you!”
“Christ!” Webster huffs out a breath, rubbing his tired eyes. He had known this was gonna go wrong-it had happened quite often already that whenever he’d said something that required big, meaningful words, Liebgott had shot him a look, followed by a roll of his eyes.
It’s him; it’s who he is. He’s a writer; he’s meant to use big words, even if it means having to get in fights with people who just don’t know these words.
But one thing he hadn’t meant to do was upset Lieb. Webster rushes to his feet, jogging after Liebgott.
“Joe! Liebgott, hey! Wait for me!” He calls out, trying his best to catch up with Liebgott who’s still angrily storming ahead.
When Webster finally reaches Liebgott, the skinnier man shoots him a warning look but nevertheless slows down so Webster can catch his breath. Maybe it’s just the calm before the storm, Webster thinks. And maybe it is, but all he knows is that right now, Liebgott isn’t pulling his fist back to punch him in the face, which can definitely be counted as a success.
Webster grabs on to Liebgott’s arms, perhaps to hold him back from maybe punching him, maybe to calm him down. Liebgott eyes the hands on his arms suspiciously before his eyes meet Webster’s.
Damn college boy. What’s he up to now?, a little mean voice sneers in the back of Liebgott’s head. Ah, shuddup, he answers it, his eyes still locked with Webster’s.
“Look, Joe, I’m sorry, I… I wasn’t trying to say you were stupid, I just…” Webster tries to explain, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing over the crooks of Liebgott’s arms, as he tries his best to find the words to explain to Joe what he was trying to say.
“Web. Fuck, jus’ forget ‘bout it, ‘kay? Ya don’ really needa try t’ah prove you’re that much smarter than the rest o’ us.” Liebgott smirks at him, trying his best to hide the little shiver that runs through his body as the calloused tips of Webster’s thumbs rub over the sensitive skin of the crooks of his arms.
Either Webster really is just that smart, or maybe he senses it - don’t really matter to Liebgott; he despises Webster for it anyways - but Webster looks down, seeing the goose bumps on Joe’s arms.
His eyebrows shoot up, his pretty mouth dropping, and he slowly lifts his head to look Liebgott in the eyes. “Joe, you…” He begins, but before he can continue, Joe presses his lips to Webster’s in a heated kiss.
Just like he’d always thought (not that Liebgott had ever really thought about it, screw you!), Webster sighs into his mouth, leaning into the kiss.
Liebgott’s tongue battles for the upper hand, and it’s not really a battle since Webster’s just that easy. When they separate, Joe’s eyes immediately open to look at Webster. His skin is flushed, and his usually bright eyes have darkened, the orbs almost black.
“Fuck!” Joe groans before pressing Webster to the ground, their lips locked to each other’s once more. His fingers quickly find their way under Webster’s khaki jacket, trailing over his abs and delicately dipping one finger into Webster’s belly button, making the younger man arch his back into Liebgott’s touch.
“J-Joe…” Webster gasps, his fingers scrambling for something to hold on to. Liebgott smirks before leaning down, his lips almost but not quite touching Webster’s. “What d’ya want, college boy? C’mon, tell me.”
Webster’s eyes flutter open, landing on Liebgott’s lips, and he reaches out to touch two fingers to them. Delicately rubbing them over Liebgott’s lips, watching Liebgott’s eyes slowly slipping shut, Webster breathes out, “I hate trying to put my desire into words. Is it not clear what I want?”
With those words, Webster leaps into Liebgott’s lap, grinding down. His hands automatically finding their way to hold on to the younger man’s hips, Liebgott groans when his erection bumps against Webster’s thigh.
“Goddammit, Web. If I needa get ya t’ah go all poet an’ troubled writer on me t’ah getcha that hot, I’m gon’ buy ya each an’ ev’ry book o’ poetry I can find in this goddamn town!” He chuckles breathlessly, their hips grinding against each other rhythmically.
Grinding down hard, Webster drops his head onto Liebgott’s shoulder, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of the older man’s neck. “Ah, ah… J-Joe, I think- oh, God, I think I’m gonna… ah…” He moans, his hips stuttering.
“Ya gon’ come for me, college boy? Huh, ya wanna come?” Liebgott coaxes, “Come for me, c’mon. Wanna see ya comin’…” He brings his hand up to cup Webster’s face, rubbing his thumb over the younger man’s plump lower lip before dipping it into Webster’s mouth.
Sucking on the thumb fervently, Webster keens as his erection grinds against Liebgott’s, and the college boy throws his head back. Liebgott’s thumb slips out of Webster’s mouth, and he feels totally mesmerized by the spit-slick digit that he almost misses out on the expression on Webster’s face when the younger man comes.
Almost, but we’re talking about Joseph fucking Liebgott here, right? And he never misses out on the good things.
So he stops staring at this wet thumb (Ya got enough time t’ah think ‘bout that sometime else, ya moron!, a voice urges him) and travels his eyes up Webster’s body.
Webster’s back is arched, his head thrown back, exposing the taut line of his throat as he’s sobbing out his release. And really, even if he had tried to, Joe just cannot help himself-he urges up, sucking on the bare skin of Webster’s collarbone, making the gorgeous writer moan even louder.
“Lieb… oh, Lieb! ... God...“ He cries out, his hips pumping hard as he spills all over the inside of his trousers. Webster slumps forward, his eyes immediately fluttering shut.
When he’s finally gained some composure, Liebgott’s giving his jaw line little licks, and when Webster turns his face to kiss the older man, he can feel the smirk on his face against his lips.
“Well, well! Who knew ya coulda said that much ‘thout actually usin’ big words.” Liebgott snorts and presses a wet kiss to Webster’s lips before cautiously shoving Webster off him.
Webster sits there for a moment, looking dumbfounded before his fingers latch themselves onto Liebgott’s thigh. “But… did you-I didn’t notice if…” He stammers, his eyes looking for any indication if Liebgott came.
“C’mon, say it. Did I what?” Liebgott crouches down to look him in the eyes before grinning at Webster.
“Di-did you… did you come?” Webster murmurs, lowering his eyes embarrassedly and nervously chewing on his lower lip.
“Fuck yeah! Ya betcha last pen I did!” Liebgott snorts before getting up again to walk away. After a few steps, he turns around, leering at Webster.
“Ya better think o’ a few nice words t’ah describe this little account so ya can tell me all ‘bout it the next time!”
With that, Liebgott leaves behind a very speechless Webster. Webster might be speechless, but the writer in him is already forming words, writing them down on imaginary paper.
the end
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Liebgott/Webster
Word Count: 1.484
Disclaimer: The TV series "Band of Brothers" is property of HBO, Playtone, Dreamworks and Stephen E. Ambrose, no infringement of copyright or disrespect to these heroes is intended.
Summary: Joe really ain’t stupid, but sometimes, he doesn’t understand a single word Webster’s saying. It’s even worse than German people talking to him; them he understands almost always, but from time to time, when Webster opens his mouth, Liebgott’s mind gets lost because What the fuck is he saying?
Author's Note: I dedicate this fic to dana_fields. She was the first one to read it and loved it. If you guys do, too, please leave me comments! You know they make me happy. ;]
The whispers of your fingertips spoke the words I understood
Joseph D. Liebgott ain’t stupid, he really ain’t - plus, he’d kick everybody’s goddamned ass if they ever dared to say otherwise.
Joe really ain’t stupid, but sometimes, he doesn’t understand a single word Webster’s saying. It’s even worse than German people talking to him; them he understands almost always, but from time to time, when Webster opens his mouth, Liebgott’s mind gets lost because What the fuck is he saying?
David Kenyon Webster had been studying English Literature in Harvard before he left to join the paratroops, but still, the one thing he knew he was never going to stop was writing. So, of course, he had read a lot of books and knew a lot of words the other men probably had never heard of. When he talks, he still uses a lot of these words so he doesn’t forget them, even though the men he’s fighting with always ask what the meaning of those words is.
Something is bound to go wrong when Webster’s talking to Liebgott; Webster using too many words, Liebgott not knowing enough - Web studying literature, Lieb studying how to kill people.
In Austria, when they’re watching a sunrise one morning, sitting in the grass, not quite awake yet - or maybe almost asleep - Webster whispers, “This feels like a book elegantly bound but you just can't read it yet.”
Liebgott turns to him, his eyes full of fury and rage, his mouth set in a thin line, and he growls, “Ya tryin’a say I’m stupid?”
Webster’s mouth falls open, and as he’s still trying to find a way to explain to Liebgott what he meant, Lieb’s already scrambling onto his feet, angrily stomping away. “Fuck you, college boy! Ain’t ev’rybody well-educated like you!”
“Christ!” Webster huffs out a breath, rubbing his tired eyes. He had known this was gonna go wrong-it had happened quite often already that whenever he’d said something that required big, meaningful words, Liebgott had shot him a look, followed by a roll of his eyes.
It’s him; it’s who he is. He’s a writer; he’s meant to use big words, even if it means having to get in fights with people who just don’t know these words.
But one thing he hadn’t meant to do was upset Lieb. Webster rushes to his feet, jogging after Liebgott.
“Joe! Liebgott, hey! Wait for me!” He calls out, trying his best to catch up with Liebgott who’s still angrily storming ahead.
When Webster finally reaches Liebgott, the skinnier man shoots him a warning look but nevertheless slows down so Webster can catch his breath. Maybe it’s just the calm before the storm, Webster thinks. And maybe it is, but all he knows is that right now, Liebgott isn’t pulling his fist back to punch him in the face, which can definitely be counted as a success.
Webster grabs on to Liebgott’s arms, perhaps to hold him back from maybe punching him, maybe to calm him down. Liebgott eyes the hands on his arms suspiciously before his eyes meet Webster’s.
Damn college boy. What’s he up to now?, a little mean voice sneers in the back of Liebgott’s head. Ah, shuddup, he answers it, his eyes still locked with Webster’s.
“Look, Joe, I’m sorry, I… I wasn’t trying to say you were stupid, I just…” Webster tries to explain, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing over the crooks of Liebgott’s arms, as he tries his best to find the words to explain to Joe what he was trying to say.
“Web. Fuck, jus’ forget ‘bout it, ‘kay? Ya don’ really needa try t’ah prove you’re that much smarter than the rest o’ us.” Liebgott smirks at him, trying his best to hide the little shiver that runs through his body as the calloused tips of Webster’s thumbs rub over the sensitive skin of the crooks of his arms.
Either Webster really is just that smart, or maybe he senses it - don’t really matter to Liebgott; he despises Webster for it anyways - but Webster looks down, seeing the goose bumps on Joe’s arms.
His eyebrows shoot up, his pretty mouth dropping, and he slowly lifts his head to look Liebgott in the eyes. “Joe, you…” He begins, but before he can continue, Joe presses his lips to Webster’s in a heated kiss.
Just like he’d always thought (not that Liebgott had ever really thought about it, screw you!), Webster sighs into his mouth, leaning into the kiss.
Liebgott’s tongue battles for the upper hand, and it’s not really a battle since Webster’s just that easy. When they separate, Joe’s eyes immediately open to look at Webster. His skin is flushed, and his usually bright eyes have darkened, the orbs almost black.
“Fuck!” Joe groans before pressing Webster to the ground, their lips locked to each other’s once more. His fingers quickly find their way under Webster’s khaki jacket, trailing over his abs and delicately dipping one finger into Webster’s belly button, making the younger man arch his back into Liebgott’s touch.
“J-Joe…” Webster gasps, his fingers scrambling for something to hold on to. Liebgott smirks before leaning down, his lips almost but not quite touching Webster’s. “What d’ya want, college boy? C’mon, tell me.”
Webster’s eyes flutter open, landing on Liebgott’s lips, and he reaches out to touch two fingers to them. Delicately rubbing them over Liebgott’s lips, watching Liebgott’s eyes slowly slipping shut, Webster breathes out, “I hate trying to put my desire into words. Is it not clear what I want?”
With those words, Webster leaps into Liebgott’s lap, grinding down. His hands automatically finding their way to hold on to the younger man’s hips, Liebgott groans when his erection bumps against Webster’s thigh.
“Goddammit, Web. If I needa get ya t’ah go all poet an’ troubled writer on me t’ah getcha that hot, I’m gon’ buy ya each an’ ev’ry book o’ poetry I can find in this goddamn town!” He chuckles breathlessly, their hips grinding against each other rhythmically.
Grinding down hard, Webster drops his head onto Liebgott’s shoulder, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of the older man’s neck. “Ah, ah… J-Joe, I think- oh, God, I think I’m gonna… ah…” He moans, his hips stuttering.
“Ya gon’ come for me, college boy? Huh, ya wanna come?” Liebgott coaxes, “Come for me, c’mon. Wanna see ya comin’…” He brings his hand up to cup Webster’s face, rubbing his thumb over the younger man’s plump lower lip before dipping it into Webster’s mouth.
Sucking on the thumb fervently, Webster keens as his erection grinds against Liebgott’s, and the college boy throws his head back. Liebgott’s thumb slips out of Webster’s mouth, and he feels totally mesmerized by the spit-slick digit that he almost misses out on the expression on Webster’s face when the younger man comes.
Almost, but we’re talking about Joseph fucking Liebgott here, right? And he never misses out on the good things.
So he stops staring at this wet thumb (Ya got enough time t’ah think ‘bout that sometime else, ya moron!, a voice urges him) and travels his eyes up Webster’s body.
Webster’s back is arched, his head thrown back, exposing the taut line of his throat as he’s sobbing out his release. And really, even if he had tried to, Joe just cannot help himself-he urges up, sucking on the bare skin of Webster’s collarbone, making the gorgeous writer moan even louder.
“Lieb… oh, Lieb! ... God...“ He cries out, his hips pumping hard as he spills all over the inside of his trousers. Webster slumps forward, his eyes immediately fluttering shut.
When he’s finally gained some composure, Liebgott’s giving his jaw line little licks, and when Webster turns his face to kiss the older man, he can feel the smirk on his face against his lips.
“Well, well! Who knew ya coulda said that much ‘thout actually usin’ big words.” Liebgott snorts and presses a wet kiss to Webster’s lips before cautiously shoving Webster off him.
Webster sits there for a moment, looking dumbfounded before his fingers latch themselves onto Liebgott’s thigh. “But… did you-I didn’t notice if…” He stammers, his eyes looking for any indication if Liebgott came.
“C’mon, say it. Did I what?” Liebgott crouches down to look him in the eyes before grinning at Webster.
“Di-did you… did you come?” Webster murmurs, lowering his eyes embarrassedly and nervously chewing on his lower lip.
“Fuck yeah! Ya betcha last pen I did!” Liebgott snorts before getting up again to walk away. After a few steps, he turns around, leering at Webster.
“Ya better think o’ a few nice words t’ah describe this little account so ya can tell me all ‘bout it the next time!”
With that, Liebgott leaves behind a very speechless Webster. Webster might be speechless, but the writer in him is already forming words, writing them down on imaginary paper.
the end