Ficlet and more chamomile
Left chamomile for several weeks, accidentally. Now the flowers are about three times as big ;____;
Title: the war came
Length: 516 words
PWP - while John is on temporary leave from Afghanistan, he visits a particular bar. M/M, semi-explicit.
--
In the dark, John doesn’t have to worry about the number of days until he has to go back. In the dark he’s free, his heart is reaching, his back is arched, he cries out into the crook of his arm and lets himself go.
He doesn’t know who the man is, and part of him doesn’t want to. It’s only release, a night in a stuffy back room at the bar, surrounded by other people locked in similar embraces. Unromantic, but what does he need romance for? He’s a soldier.
John growls as the stranger slides into him, pushing back, hungry for the pain. Fingers tighten on his hips hard enough to bruise. The smell of the man overpowers him as he leans over John’s back, shallow breath dusting the curve of John’s shoulder.
He makes no noise as they fuck, in contrast to John, whose pent-up fear and anger come bubbling out of him in animalistic sounds. At one point his partner angles upward and he yelps into the pillow. At last the stranger tucks his head into the crook of John’s neck and bites down, hard, and John works himself frantically to a climax as he jerks inside him.
In the aftermath the man pulls out and unrolls the condom, dropping it into the wastebasket. John collapses on the bed, his lungs full of stale air, aching in the best way. He relishes the moments before he starts to think again.
“This is the last time, then,” says his anonymous partner, flicking the lamp on. It’s not a question.
The room is illuminated, its water-stained carpet and flaking wallpaper reflecting the state of John’s mind-battered, grungy, in need of rebuilding. John rolls over.
“I’m going back soon,” he says, although they have rarely spoken before, and never about this.
Sweat glistens on their skin in the dim light, the stranger moon-pale and lithe as a jungle cat, and John small and tanned and his hair sun-bleached, feeling worn out next to this man. It’s always like this, afterward. His insecurities, uncertainties, come flooding back.
“I know.” Bending to pull on his briefs, the man’s dark hair tickles John’s stomach. On a whim, John slides his hand behind his head and jerks him closer. They tangle for a moment in a lazy, post-orgasmic kiss before he pulls away.
“Don’t make it into more than it is,” he says.
“Under other circumstances…”
John trails off. He doesn’t want to think about how his life would be different under other circumstances.
“I don’t do relationships.” Pants now, belt, wrinkled shirt. His long hands work their way up the buttons to hide his smooth chest.
“Yeah,” says John. “I guess I don’t really, either.”
He pushes the damp curls back from his face and regards John, his eyes dark and inscrutable. “War does that to people,” he says.
He pulls on his shoes. John sits up as he turns the door handle to leave.
“Thanks. For… this. For everything.”
The man pauses. “You’re welcome.”
He shuts the door behind him and leaves John in the dark.
--
Title: the war came
Length: 516 words
PWP - while John is on temporary leave from Afghanistan, he visits a particular bar. M/M, semi-explicit.
--
In the dark, John doesn’t have to worry about the number of days until he has to go back. In the dark he’s free, his heart is reaching, his back is arched, he cries out into the crook of his arm and lets himself go.
He doesn’t know who the man is, and part of him doesn’t want to. It’s only release, a night in a stuffy back room at the bar, surrounded by other people locked in similar embraces. Unromantic, but what does he need romance for? He’s a soldier.
John growls as the stranger slides into him, pushing back, hungry for the pain. Fingers tighten on his hips hard enough to bruise. The smell of the man overpowers him as he leans over John’s back, shallow breath dusting the curve of John’s shoulder.
He makes no noise as they fuck, in contrast to John, whose pent-up fear and anger come bubbling out of him in animalistic sounds. At one point his partner angles upward and he yelps into the pillow. At last the stranger tucks his head into the crook of John’s neck and bites down, hard, and John works himself frantically to a climax as he jerks inside him.
In the aftermath the man pulls out and unrolls the condom, dropping it into the wastebasket. John collapses on the bed, his lungs full of stale air, aching in the best way. He relishes the moments before he starts to think again.
“This is the last time, then,” says his anonymous partner, flicking the lamp on. It’s not a question.
The room is illuminated, its water-stained carpet and flaking wallpaper reflecting the state of John’s mind-battered, grungy, in need of rebuilding. John rolls over.
“I’m going back soon,” he says, although they have rarely spoken before, and never about this.
Sweat glistens on their skin in the dim light, the stranger moon-pale and lithe as a jungle cat, and John small and tanned and his hair sun-bleached, feeling worn out next to this man. It’s always like this, afterward. His insecurities, uncertainties, come flooding back.
“I know.” Bending to pull on his briefs, the man’s dark hair tickles John’s stomach. On a whim, John slides his hand behind his head and jerks him closer. They tangle for a moment in a lazy, post-orgasmic kiss before he pulls away.
“Don’t make it into more than it is,” he says.
“Under other circumstances…”
John trails off. He doesn’t want to think about how his life would be different under other circumstances.
“I don’t do relationships.” Pants now, belt, wrinkled shirt. His long hands work their way up the buttons to hide his smooth chest.
“Yeah,” says John. “I guess I don’t really, either.”
He pushes the damp curls back from his face and regards John, his eyes dark and inscrutable. “War does that to people,” he says.
He pulls on his shoes. John sits up as he turns the door handle to leave.
“Thanks. For… this. For everything.”
The man pauses. “You’re welcome.”
He shuts the door behind him and leaves John in the dark.
--