Fic: Once; Band of Brothers; Lipton/Speirs, unrequited
Title: Once
Author: Nakeno
Pairing: Lipton/Speirs, unrequited
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing and this certainly isn't meant to disrespect anyone.
Summary: In his head, the kiss is always sweet beneath the sandpaper burn of stubble.
A/N: Possibly the shortest thing I've ever written. Ever.
In his head, the kiss is always sweet beneath the sandpaper burn of stubble. Sweet-tender and tainted with nicotine.
In his head, those fingers are slow and calculating, feeling out all the little impressions. The bits that make him jerk and start and maybe even cry.
In his head, there's warmth in those green eyes-- brilliant, considering, caring.
In his head, there's whispered words of want.
In reality, the kiss is hard-fast and the burn of stubble is far too distracting. It's a fierce engagement and tender doesn't enter into the equation, but there is the taint of nicotine.
In reality, those fingers are firm and cinch too tight, feeling out only his upper arms to hold him still. The bits that make him jerk, start, cry are untouched.
In reality, there's nothing but a kind of cold curiosity in those green eyes-- brilliant, blank, and bland.
In reality, there's only the words: 'What the hell are you thinking, Lieutenant Lipton?'
In his head, he kisses Speirs again and again and again.
In reality? Once is enough.
Author: Nakeno
Pairing: Lipton/Speirs, unrequited
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing and this certainly isn't meant to disrespect anyone.
Summary: In his head, the kiss is always sweet beneath the sandpaper burn of stubble.
A/N: Possibly the shortest thing I've ever written. Ever.
In his head, the kiss is always sweet beneath the sandpaper burn of stubble. Sweet-tender and tainted with nicotine.
In his head, those fingers are slow and calculating, feeling out all the little impressions. The bits that make him jerk and start and maybe even cry.
In his head, there's warmth in those green eyes-- brilliant, considering, caring.
In his head, there's whispered words of want.
In reality, the kiss is hard-fast and the burn of stubble is far too distracting. It's a fierce engagement and tender doesn't enter into the equation, but there is the taint of nicotine.
In reality, those fingers are firm and cinch too tight, feeling out only his upper arms to hold him still. The bits that make him jerk, start, cry are untouched.
In reality, there's nothing but a kind of cold curiosity in those green eyes-- brilliant, blank, and bland.
In reality, there's only the words: 'What the hell are you thinking, Lieutenant Lipton?'
In his head, he kisses Speirs again and again and again.
In reality? Once is enough.