Pacific Fanfic: Let the Fires Bathe Us (Part 1)
Title: Let the Fires Bathe Us
Author: someonesgrlbomb
Fandom: The Pacific
Word Count: 18,000
Pairings: Sledge/Snafu, Snafu/OFC, Sledge/Snafu/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Noncon
Reassurances: Mostly slashy, war angst; pretty much the same themes I wrote about before. Guess I might be just a one trick pony.
Disclaimer: No disrespect intended to the real mean whom HBO’s The Pacific characters came from. This never happened. I do not own the Pacific or profit from this in any way.
Author’s note: Dark, yes. I was just vibing on The Pacific scene where Sledge and Snafu return to Pavuvu from Peleliu. Further inspiration came from reading about that moment in Real Sledge’s book, along with learning about the lesions. I combined it all for some reason with the totally fictional Sledge/Snafu story that entertains me. This was the result...wish I could explain where this comes from…Guess I do also have a thing for threesomes. The title is from MCR's "Mama." I have a feeling there are hundreds of fics called this but a skimming search of the web yielded little to confirm that; still, sorry if it's so YAWN.
****
Sledge was trembling angry as he moved his gear into the tent that Snafu had previously claimed on the Marine base of Pavuvu. It was the same tent Sledge had been unwelcome in as a new replacement a thousand years ago, before Peleliu, where they were returning from. He wasn’t mad about the tent move. Of course they would bunk together after Peleliu.
*****
Sledge and Snafu were lounging in disarray along with all the other Marine passengers on the ship’s deck, all mostly quiet, watching the sailors tie things and clean, the horizon bobbing as they cut through unending deep blue, time a meaningless concept in their post-battle stupor. It might have been hours or days since they set sail. Snafu slowly raised his head from where it leaned on a metal rail as if it was a comfortable place to be, a place he didn’t take pleasure in abandoning. Truth was he might have rested as comfortably on a bed of nails or a cold stone floor. Resting safely in fresh air was really all that mattered. Well, that, and what got him looking down from his post, which was up on some kind of boxy feature of the ship’s deck edge that offered a view of most of the men on the expanse of the deck. Snafu sought his target and said expectantly, “Hey Sledgehammer.”
Among that mass of shredded mud-fouled olive green that constituted the other Marines scattered around the deck, all fitting together in leans and touches at random edges like dominoes played by the blind, Sledge’s red hair distinguished him easily, though Snafu knew right where he was without looking. “Yeah?” he squinted upward.
A scarcely masked desperation laced Snafu’s slow, frayed words: “When we get back, settle yer ass in our squad's tent."
Sledge blinked, waiting for the information, to hear something that would surprise him.
Snafu squirmed a bit at the lack of response. “It’s gon’ be…I mean, we'll have open sacks around, you know? After all our casualties. Let’s make sure not too many ah them replacements get in there. Cause there will be replacements." And to himself he muttered and rolled his eyes, "Shit."
“Yeah,” Sledge nodded, finally figuring out Snafu needed confirmation. Sledge then sealed it by reaching up and slapping Snafu’s thigh in reassurance and agreement, oblivious to the irony of wanting to fend off replacements. He didn’t need a reason that made sense, that could be articulated, to move as close as possible to Snafu; didn’t need an invitation or directive. Sledge was planning on being there anyway - though even that was overstating it. He hadn’t formalized it as “a plan” till that moment; he’d just never stopped to consider the minimal actions he’d need to take like moving his scant personal belongings - so he could retain his proximity to Snafu when they landed.
*****
The return to Pavuvu wasn't going so great for Sledge. Despite rest on the ship ride over, he was still a kind of tired unfathomed, numb like not even full body Novocaine might offer, not feeling like himself in the most literal and unpleasant sense. Then on top of ALL of that, they were assaulted with that otherworldly carnival of an insulting greeting...
Sledge was enraged ever since. His stewing had festered into trembling. He was barely able to get his gear squared away around his new bunk. Items kept dropping, nothing fit anywhere it was supposed to, and every rat and crab that dared scamper by was greeted with an attempted swift punting kick. He usually missed because he was so caught up, and when he connected his boot to one of these obnoxious life forms to commit some real violence, it didn't help him feel any better.
Nearby, Snafu had simply dumped his gear on his cot and stripped till he was just in dog tags above the waist. He was continuing to test whether Sledge would notice his body, in a way that made Snafu feel a different kind of dirty and exposed, dangerous, fucked up, and tempted. Good stuff. Arrival back at Pavuvu had Snafu shifting toward rest and relaxation with greater ease than those like Sledge who had not done this circuit from the base to battle and back once before. Implicit in such thought was that Snafu was now a two-battle survivor - not the kind of thing to dwell much on with more battles ahead and statistics squeezing a logical choke hold on his future. So rather than think on that too much, Snafu embraced an extra lack of regard for everything, living for the moment and his whims as much as possible. His crosshairs were zeroing in on Sledge.
As Snafu observed Sledge, he lit a smoke, realizing this was not going to be a time for assessing whether the head game was only his. Snafu's concern grew as Sledge's unusual temper commanded standing ready, at least on the inside. Snafu was to watch out for Sledge. That much had been established free and clear, by duty and need, after all their days and nights together in battle. And, something else about Sledge was entangling. Something Snafu was open to allowing.
Sledge’s first foray into war had bestowed upon him, among other things he did not need, a new capacity for anger and hate, but it had previously only reared up against the Japanese enemy forces. The venom he was currently burning as fuel didn't have a prior natural place in Sledge’s repertoire, but through Peleliu, Snafu and everyone found Sledge was much tougher than he seemed. So there was no knowing where this peculiar moment was heading.
Sledge shook his pack more vigorously than he had to for the remaining items to fall out, and some mess kit items flew out hard, bouncing on the cot and clattered to the boarded sandy ground. He bent to get a spoon but kicked it at the same time further under his cot, eliciting as close to a cuss as Sledge was known to issue: "Dang it!"
Snafu’s slow monotone New Orleans drawl, unconcerned with conventional beginnings and endings of sentences, was possessed of a capacity to convey no arousal to any situation. This should have been a good start for prying Sledge out of his mood. "Was thinking maybe we can finish all this up later go get some hot chow. Least, see about another cool drink ah juice. Whaddya say, Sledgehamma?"
Sledge stopped cold, turned to Snafu and incredulously repeated, "A drink of juice.” Then louder and questioningly, head bobbing: ”A drink of juice?” Then flat yelling: “Juice??!! " Sledge turned his head to yell more, putting his back into it, and throwing a tin cup at the framed tent walls, "Fucking juice? What the fuck is going on here?!?! Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!"
Snafu put his palms up slowly and defensively, raised one eyebrow, opened his mouth but had no idea what to say. He would usually just walk away from a man’s temper tantrum, most of the time with a satisfied feeling because odds were he had set it off himself, but this was Sledge, and Snafu had not meant to rile him up further. Snafu had just spent weeks living side by side with Sledge through Peleliu’s terrible battle, and Sledge did not formally cuss, despite being sent nothing but stomach-cramping oil drum water for days in 110 degree heat; despite multiple bouts of helpless abject demoralizing fear during merciless shellings with nothing but shallow dips in the coral deck and God’s capricious mercy to cling to; despite incomprehensible suicidal enemies; despite lumping wads of fellow Marine's entrails onto stretchers with the rest of them while smiling and promising “it's not so bad.” Through all of this, Sledge never cussed - not really - not with the f-word for sure.
So…what the fuck indeed.
Sledge finally huffed his way back to looking at Snafu and was immediately taken down a peg to see Snafu feeling uncertain. That was the whole reason he was taught not to cuss; you never know who you might offend or put on the defensive needlessly. And it was established that Snafu was his to look out for, not to threaten. He closed his eyes and shook his head at himself. But he couldn't tamp down the anger. "I am sorry. I just. Cannot. Believe. Those...girls. Out there." He hissed, not parting teeth one iota more than he had to.
"What? Them pretty little Red Cross dames out pouring juice, ‘welcome back,’ ‘suck ya later,’ out by the docks?"
"You seen any others around here?"
"Not sure I'd tell ya if I did."
Through gritted teeth, Sledge spit and paced and struggled to express a thought. "What are they doing here? What is a cup of grapefruit juice...I mean, what in the world do they know...do they think..." Sledge was on his way to trembling mad again, turning pinkish (Snafu could tell even through Sledge’s tanned face). Then Sledge plopped onto his bunk, wringing his hands. "It's just so enfuriatin'...what do they think they're doing here? What do they think?" Sledge kicked at a crab but missed.
For 1/10th of a second Snafu entertained the idea of lighting the little crusacian bastard on fire - an automatic thought occurring with each sighting of those ubiquitous vermin. But he didn't have any lighter fluid and really, Sledge's wrath might have been able to set the thing alight via telepathy, had he meant to. He seemed that angry about the girls.
Snafu recalled the totally discombobulating stun of being greeted by those Red Cross gals, an unexpected encounter with young attractive American females upon the non-triumphant return of the Marines from the truly hellish battle. They'd been overwhelmed coming to grips with how nasty they personally were, how substandardly they'd been living compared to the sailors ferrying them (let alone the modern world they'd left behind to defend), but at least something about that was mitigated in the all-male context of the ship. A brotherhood of blood and dust among Marines, and sailors respectful of that. The objectives of the battle had not been clearly achieved. No one returning felt like a hero or deserving of a damn thing. They were inexplicably survivors and racked with guilt. So to stand in comparison with the pristine fairness of American girls, to be faced with the opposite sex at what felt like one of their lowest points of freshly earned manhood…It was supposed to be nice, sure, but it ended up bizarre and fucked up and yeah, enraging like so many things about the Marine Corps. Snafu had followed Sledge’s lead in approaching and staring down those gals, but he hadn’t needed to dwell on it.
Snafu stepped toward Sledge and got within arm’s reach, hoping to distract him and help him move along. "They jus’ wanted to be friendly, Sledgehamma, that’s all. Put 'em outta your mind. Let's jus get down to the mess and see what's what. I could eat hot chow for days."
Snafu reached out to grab Eugene by the forearm, hoping to just lead him out, but Sledge yanked away like a well-practiced preschooler. "No. You go on. I want to finish up here."
Snafu saw Sledge was serious, nodded and left respectfully. As he walked out, another Marine from their section was on his way in, but Snafu put his hand on the man's chest to stop his progress. Every man in the Company knew Snafu might in that moment try some smartass comment to delay comfort by exaggerating the rat poop problem or something. Snafu said, "Don’t go in right now. Sledgehammer’s in there. Needs a little time." It was so weirdly straightforward a directive coming from Snafu, it was heeded.
*****
The night, Sledge found himself rounding the corner behind the aid station, and sure enough the “juice girls” had been provided quarters there, removed from the men, the riff-raff, the pathetic objects of their patronizing service.
Sledge approached, propelled by hate and rage and indignant disgust.
It was like he was watching himself - not at all aware of what he would do next as he stalked forward.
Practically everyone on the base was gathering for a film reel in a large assembly area, but as Sledge hoped, that blond was there in her tent, still in her full Red Cross getup. He'd pegged her as the one who was clearly in charge, who'd had the bright idea to welcome the boys back and had convinced her friends at the Banika medical base to join her, probably charmed Corps command in some disgusting flirty way to let them. She had orchestrated being right there as the men got off ships from Peleliu, walking past their little tables where they dispensed juice, as well as profound misunderstanding and offense. Her plan was to try to salve the wounds of those returning from hell with the acidic sting of grapefruit juice and with the audacity of soft lilting hair, clean skin, a well-fitting crisp white uniform, and a kind, innocent smile.
Innocence. Sledge soul-scoffed at the distant idea.
The blond turned toward him in her kneeling position near her cot. She was not surprised to suddenly have close quarters with a random Marine and no one else nearby. “I remember you,” she said.
Sledge came at her with eyes fixed like a bayonet, looking past her scattered personal girly stuff he didn’t know how to identify that she’d traveled with and was now sorting and folding. He merely registered her possession of things and it fed his anger, expanded the distance he felt between them. “What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly, exasperated, still moving forward. He was not sure when he would stop.
She looked at him dumbly.
“You don’t belong here,” Sledge asserted.
She engaged him with charm. "Hey," she started kind of easy, "you know, you’re not supposed to be HEY! MMPFFF!"
Sledge covered her mouth with one hand, reached to the back of her head with the other, and fluidly pushed her down against the floor onto her back, getting one arm pinned under his leg to help control her. He kept one hand over her mouth and drew his KA-BAR with the other, holding it pointedly over her face. His actions were the cold work of a smooth machine. His autopilot somehow knew what to do, hovering over her on his knees.
The watching part of him was astonished at his intent, not so much his execution, as of course, he'd been trained in dealing violence.
Keeping the knife in view, he hissed, "Keep quiet! Just gotta make sure you know: you don't belong here.” She looked frightened. It was an informed fright. Animals he’d hunted could look frightened but didn’t have awareness of the potential range of creative brutality men could inflict. This was also different from the look on Japanese soldiers’ faces who were able to see Sledge at the last moment before he pulled the trigger. They didn’t have fear - they had a bizarre mix of disdain and desire and sometimes relief. But to Sledge, the rage he was felt when shooting them was the same as he felt in this moment.
So much rage and violence driving him. He felt both blinded and compelled by it.
She whimpered, “I just wanted to help…I know you had such a rough time.”
At that moment Sledge saw on the makeshift crate bedside table that same pitcher she'd used to pour the juice. Her chalice of ministry to the defeated, the emasculated. Seeing it incensed him further, till he was nearly seeing double.
"Think I wanted juice and to see your face after my ‘rough time’?" he growled, mocking her characterization of the literal hell that was Peleliu that she could not ever ever understand, not sparing the weight of his body as he gestured and pressed down against her to emphasize words.
She brazenly confessed with her eyes an answer to his question, seeming to say Absolutely yes I thought you'd like to see me. So he slapped her across the jaw with a hard open hand
Then he yelled, “You don’t know anything about it! You wanted to help? YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!” Sledge yelled again, wishing to see all trace of her disagreement with that disappear. But it didn’t. She was heaving, whimpering, and yet he saw she was STILL, even now, trying to be something to him that he could not accept, and actually, the more he looked, the more he felt she was nowhere near scared enough, nowhere near getting it.
He had no choice.
“You can't help me," he muttered, and swiftly reached up her stiff white skirt and grabbed at the top of her panties briskly. He pulled, and his other hand pressed the knife flat against her pelvis and thighs, as he needed that hand to cooperate in the effort till he got her panties near her knees. There, he could easily rip them apart with a pass of the sharp blade through the silky fabric. He could next force himself between her legs, still on his knees. He had apparently walked into her tent with his pants open because he found his dick was already pretty much out and hard enough. He didn't really know how he got it into her, nor did he even feel it when he did. He just felt his rage course through him and he transmitted it to her with instant hard thrusts, reminding her “You. Don’t. Belong. Here.” He thought there was a satisfaction to it, like he’d always heard there would be with sex, but he wasn't sure. He was more interested in monitoring her reaction, making sure she understood how poorly she understood him, how she had it so wrong to attempt to be anything to him, a violent worthless lost cause...
She sobbed, "This can't be a Marine...can't be...how can this be you…can't be you..."
Then a clear voice from behind spoke: "Don't."
Sledge glanced behind him toward the doorway he'd come through. It was the darkened figure of Snafu.
*****
Sledge woke up sweating, gasping, noted with relief he was lying on his back on his sack. His limbs tingled awake from their sleep paralysis. He blinked in the darkness, measuring reality. He was feeling under-satisfied, like he had unfinished business that scared him, like he forgot to finish off the enemy. While scared, he was also still angry. Very unsettled, incomplete. Disoriented. Half hard.
He gripped the edge of his cot and looked to Snafu's bunk. Snafu was up on one elbow, watching him right back through their layers of mosquito netting, as if he'd been watching for a while. Which he had.
Snafu's motionless staring posture in the dark was oddly grounding, telling Sledge he had been having disturbed sleep. Pieces of the dream finally came back to him coherently enough, and the weight of it collapsed Sledge and he rolled away from Snafu. He curled in on himself to uselessly try to fend off the crush of shock, the bewilderment for his mind coming up with that, and an odd tinge of smugness to have done something in service of the outrage he’d felt. But no, that wasn’t right either. Then he noticed he'd rolled onto a particularly rough and raw patch of those sores on his forearm that he and all the grunts had developed toward the end of their time on Peleliu (not that they knew it was getting to be the end of their time). The pain from them when rubbed reminded him of their existence, and he felt so disgusted with himself. No one knew what caused them.
He might have been a walking, rotting corpse, an abomination, less than human.
Snafu had left his bunk and was creeping toward Sledge. He crept because he hoped not to wake the other bone weary men, but also and primarily because he didn't know many other ways to move toward Sledge. He often felt what he was doing in approaching Sledge was not OK in a certain way, and so it just came out as creeping.
Sledge knew Snafu was heading over, hoped for his touch. When he got it on his shoulder as usual, through his mosquito net, he relaxed a little. Then he relaxed a little more upon hearing the familiar melody of Snafu whispering, "Sledgehammer.” Snafu went on: “Come on, let's go have a smoke."
Sledge was so comforted at Snafu's touch it unraveled him instantly. He fought tears. He didn't deserve any kindness. He was so glad for Snafu being there. Being half hard and with that gnawing feeling of noncompletion was bothersome, but with Snafu there, he felt a more legitimate weird hope for resolution. Sledge rolled toward Snafu, looked at him hovering above, and paused to appreciate their familiar close space. Then he sat up and Snafu backed away in perfect choreography, staying safely close by and allowing Sledge the room he needed to slip on sandals, grab his pack and Zippo, and slip out of the tent.
Up and down the Company road dimly lit by scant flambeaus permitted to stay on, there were scattered, awake, smoking Marines. None were in earshot since the trade winds whooshed through the foliage to create a constant background noise.
Sledge walked a few paces down the road, looking at the half moon, rubbing his half hard dick a little with the heel of his hand, willing it not to get any worse, waiting for Snafu to get his smokes and join up.
It gave Sledge a chance to wonder what devil had crawled inside of him. It was perfectly conceivable that plenty of evil was lurking around at Peleliu, looking for bodies to possess. His worst fear, though, was that there was nothing supernatural about it.
He guessed he might have eventually forgiven himself for his anger for the unwelcome reception by those well-intentioned Red Cross gals. He’d been so tired, was just back from that horrific place…but to take it to the level he did in his dream...and then he got lost thinking about moving through his rage, thrusting against her body, remembering his belief he was building up to something...part of him wanted to go back to the satisfaction the dream had promised, depraved though it was.
He was shaky, sniffing in tears.
He blamed the Japs.
He blamed the Marines.
He blamed the unnamable entanglement he had with the ambiguous Snafu.
He blamed his exhaustion.
He came back to wholesale owning his weakness, which he was newly becoming acquainted with as far more pathetic than he thought.
Snafu's quiet tread on the coral road was accompanied by his saying, "I tell ya, Sledge, I woke up ‘bout 15 minutes ago thinking I'm about to be jumped on by a damn Nip. Again. Where ever I'm sleeping, seems like I always dream one is hiding nearby, stowed away in the ship or here special just to get me. Hidin’ in my pack or something. So fucking stupid."
Sledge nodded and raised eyebrows supportively, then chuckled darkly. "It's not stupid. Happened to me on the transport. Lotsa guys been havin' that happen."
Snafu, paused, observed the moon, too, then asked slowly, "You weren't having that dream just now, were you, Eugene?"
Sledge shrugged noncommittally, growing equally desperate to hide his shameful fantasy and to confess it to Snafu, who would not judge and who was cranking up the safety and intimacy with first name use. Sledge puffed his cigarette and felt thankful he took up smoking as he felt himself calm down a speck with each inhale.
Snafu rocked on his feet, wanting to move toward Sledge to comfort him but he didn't know how to direct his body or where he thought he wanted to end up exactly anyway. Tentatively, he said, "Heard you saying, 'You don't belong here.' Sounded mad, and you didn't wake up swinging like you were about to be killed, like I do after these Nip dreams."
Sledge nodded, “It was...something pretty different.” He pleaded through the air for Snafu to keep probing, maybe to touch his shoulder again.
"My guess? Same thing had you all riled up earlier - them Red Cross gals. You dream about yelling at them?"
Sledge started soulfully at Snafu, then looked aside of him to say, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Snafu nodded. He didn’t really have the picture but they were communicating, commiserating on some level. Hard to ask for much more, though Snafu kind of wanted to wrap Sledge up and hide him away for his own safe keeping. Something. He stepped toward Sledge, sidled up to him, and got shoulder to shoulder, just like they did in the field a lot when it was the only reasonable way to co-exist given the terrain. It had become a comfortable place to exist. “Maybe that oblong pigskin you call a head is just working it out and these dreams gon’ get you right over this bullshit. Maybe it works that way.”
After a pause, where clearly Sledge was thinking about it and calming his sniffling, he perked up. “Huh. You know something? You were there, too.” Sledge voice was really brightening, suddenly remembering that detail.
Snafu raised his eyebrows, blowing out smoke. “Sure. Bet I had some choice words for them gals for ya.”
“No,” Sledge said, solidly certain. “Not…no. You were trying to stop me.” He pressed his shoulder into Snafu’s a little more.
Snafu was stilled and hoped he didn't give away to Sledge how fucked up it was for the better man to dream of the other’s guidance. He then wondered if it was unnatural for them to keep standing so close. There was all the space on the road for them to use, but they gaggled together, smoking, pressing, calming. But those thoughts passed on through, shoved aside by the intrigue Snafu found in having been in Sledge’s dreams at all. “That so? Yeah, guess that makes more sense. I gotta keep you in line." Snafu was fighting a grin as he spoke.
Sledge’s dream Snafu and the one there with him at that moment were the same: the man he felt wildly grateful for, trusted so completely. He grinned weakly back, felt sentimental, and his chest heaved a little. “I do owe you…so much,” Sledge confessed as he leaned more, bowing his head toward Snafu, tentatively at first then full on turning to hug Snafu, who didn’t resist at all.
At the full frontal body contact, Sledge’s lingering erection was like a match stroked on flint, coming alive instantly. Sledge had to let go quickly. Snafu registered the whole thing and caught Sledge's eyes as he pulled away. Snafu saw his friend was not in a place to deal with it then and there, so Snafu tucked it away, offering space on the matter for the time being, but saying languidly and without looking down at Eugene’s crotch, “Careful what kind a' debts you get yourself into." Then he quickly interceded before any awkward moments could take hold. "Think I’ll try to get some shut eye again before the damn sun comes back up. I'll give you a minute to yourself now. That is, if you think you’re gonna be ok."
Sledge nodded a little urgently, grateful and eager to get out of the moment.
Snafu returned to their tent, doomed to be wide awake for the next two hours lying in his sack with his head and limbs buzzing.
Sledge went to the edge of the road where it turned into the foliage of the island and jerked off to imaginings of being pressed to Snafu, erection in contact, awareness of warm spots on his body where Snafu had leaned into him before the hug. No thoughts of forcing himself on anyone.
*****
…the furious walk around the aid station to the girls' tent…finding the blond alone with her things…I remember you…You don’t belong here…I just wanted to help after your rough time…Sledge making her take him, understand him, his fury, his violence that she claimed to understand...
"Don’t.”
Sledge didn’t need to look. He knew who it was.
He pulled the pistol off his belt and pointed it as he turned, squeezing the trigger for a perfect kill shot which Snafu didn't see coming at all.
*****
At the sound of the pistol firing, Sledge sat straight up in bed, heart and head pounding, that terrible feeling of unfinished business, of wanting to complete something dangerous, half hard, and now also panicked he lost something important…until he could make out Snafu, up on his elbow watching Sledge, again. After a beat of eye contact, Snafu reached for his smokes and sandals. Sledge took the cue and did the same when he could get his body to respond without too much trembling and when the need to rip something apart passed.
The opening volley in their dialog was Snafu just looking expectantly at Sledge when he arrived.
“Two times now,” Sledge launched, just as predicted, “Two times I…I dreamt I…I…hurt…I hurt that Red Cross girl.” He was nodding side to side in short quick oscillations to indicate his disbelief of his own ears, pacing a bit, discharging energy.
Snafu directed his eyes downward to make it easier for Sledge to keep talking. Sledge’s shame was too pure to be looked directly at, required honoring by averting eyes away. "Jus’ a dream, Sledgehammer,” Snafu offered, aware it wouldn’t help.
Sledge stopped and confessed in a whisper, finger alternately pointing to his chest, Snafu, the ground - where ever would emphasize the point best for each phrase, "I ain’t even ever been…I’ve never done that with a girl…nicely. You know?”
Snafu’s bug eyes widened even more, briefly. “Yeah, I know. Everybody knows.” Knowing who is a virgin is a priority in a rifle company during war. That wasn’t the surprising part. Sledge had had some fucking dream, that was clear. No wonder they were doing this a second night.
“How’m I coming up with dreams like that? What is wrong with me?”
“Not a damn thing,” Snafu shrugged.
“How can you say that?”
“Well, just seems like maybe you just gotta stop bein’ so angry about some broad wanting to give you juice.”
“It's not about juice.”
Snafu blinked, lit another smoke. It didn’t matter he wasn’t making sense with Sledge. Just talking mattered. Trying. “What’s it about then, perfessor? Everybody dreams crazy shit. Flying, showing up naked to Sunday school, you know, and no one thinks much about it. Just happens."
Sledge sighed, rubbed the back of his head, stared off. “Yeah, well, no one dreamed about Japs jumping on 'em till it really happened, and this stuff is kinda like stuff that happened."
Snafu gave Sledge the full one-eyebrow look. "Sledge, the worst thing anyone can say you did to any of them gals is stare at 'em kinda mean-like."
"Worst way I ever treated a woman," Sledge said, shaking his head. "It really seems to all be about what an awful, terrible...mmm…" and he bent over into a crouch, very suddenly overwhelmed with what it was about, and he rocked backward till he was seated and hugged his knees, kept fighting tears, looking at the moist open lesions slashing an inch here, an inch there, all down his arms to his hands. Monster. He didn’t say it aloud because every man there was no different from him, he knew. He shouldn’t judge them or himself. Knew it for that moment anyway, with Snafu there. “Nevermind.”
Snafu respected Sledge's obvious bid to not lose it, and it was easy enough because he had a burning question. "I try to stop you in this one, too?” Snafu had to know, having suffered fairly obsessive thoughts for the 24 hours that had passed since he first heard he’d made a heroic appearance in Sledge’s dreamscape.
Sledge chuckled darkly, remembering. “Yeah. Yeah, you tried to stop me. You tried. But uh…” Sledge shrugged, trying to indicate it didn’t work, not wanting to give life or any kind of reality to that moment. "I wasn't in a listening mood."
“I’d-uh beat your ass for sure if you didn't wanna listen to me," Snafu offered, defensively but also kidding a bit, trying to lighten things up.
“Yeah, well, I shot you dead,” Sledge snapped, angry and sickened, and not letting Snafu brighten things.
“You shot me?” Snafu was offended.
“Yeah.”
Snafu plopped down next to Eugene, deflated. "With what?” It would only matter to certain folks.
Sledge knew that and provided the answer without any surprise at being asked. "My sidearm.”
“How the fuck did you get the draw on me?”
“You didn’t seem to have a weapon.”
“The hell you say.”
Sledge shrugged.
“I had a weapon.” Snafu seemed certain, invested.
Sledge made a little space between them and quirked an eyebrow. “You know it wasn’t really you, right? Remember this was MY nightmare?”
“You tell that lil’ Snafu running around in your head - he gotta have his weapon cleaned and ready all the fucking time. Your head’s a dangerous place, Eugene.”
Sledge stared away, done with the silliness. “That’s the truth. Why my head had to invent two of the most awful things, after all the real awful things I won’t ever forget I really saw and I really did...”
Snafu finally heard something he could latch onto and cut Sledge off. “Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. You didn’t do nothing awful. You survived. Kill or be killed. It's fuckin' war, Sledgehamma. And it’s like the Skipper said - this war. Greater good. Shit like that."
Sledge's inner swell of emotions was rising, gathering strength. The reference to their compassionate and strong but tragically fallen former Company leader, Captain Haldane, was an unfair boost to those forces, causing his eyes to water, his throat to close. He swallowed painfully, choking the sobs back, and was compelled to explain in broken whispers and squeaks and sniffs, “Yeah…I dunno…I know it’s war but…doesn’t seem OK…I don’t feel anything like, like ok, like good…I feel the opposite of good…total opposite…but here I am, for God knows what reason.” Sledge shifted a little in his thought train, glancing at Snafu who was still just smoking and looking down right next to him. “And you…you survived…God knows why on that one, too, but…” and then Sledge lowered his voice to say, “I’m so glad you survived. I cannot imagine…and then I go and I dream I…I kill you...” Sledge got lost again in his own depths. “Oh God….I cannot take that…I cannot take that thought...what might I be, what am I that I dream about killing you and forcing myself on some girl?"
Snafu was thrilled at what Sledge seemed to be saying about him, but wrecked at Sledge’s distress, and truly Sledge's questions seemed perplexing. What did these dreams mean? If Sledge was asking, maybe there was an answer worth knowing. Snafu had been sitting atop his own mountain of "life is fucked up" from his own combat experiences, seeing and doing awful things, but not planning to think about it, or its effects on him. How he knew which way was up and how to obey the laws of gravity after that amount of bullshit was indeed a mystery, if he were to ponder it. But he had no need to. Still, he knew Sledge wasn’t cut out that way. He slung his arm over Sledge’s shoulders. “Jus’ a dream. You can't get rid of me,” he tried using his body to remind Sledge he was indeed alive, that they both were. This time it didn’t feel like it would become uncomfortable at all to stay that way for as long as they wanted to.
Sledge leaned in to Snafu, so glad for the reassurance, that Snafu was OK with the crazy thoughts bleeding out of his head, that this wasn't scaring him off. He leaned over till they touched heads. It felt so comforting, like home, and he wondered if he needed Snafu to be with him forever so he could stay sane, as Sledge could not fathom a world in which he did not at all times have physical evidence of Snafu being alive. It soothed him, stopped his sobbing, reminded him of something good.
Snafu was so pleased at Eugene’s relaxing into him. It was more than he could have hoped for. Snafu started letting his hand rub the other man’s arm and back, scratch lightly into his hair, rub his neck, sooth him directly.
Sledge was initially curious and thought he should be uncomfortable, but Snafu’s wandering hand felt so nice, so kind, so comforting. And then as he relaxed, there was a tingling from Sledge’s gut and awareness of how close their faces were, of Snafu breathing, of the location of his lips. Sledge licked his own lips.
Snafu could hardly believe he was getting away with touching Eugene, that he was actually receptive to this impulse of Snafu’s to touch, seemed relaxed by it, seemed rescued a bit. Snafu resolved to keep at it as long as Eugene would let him, and was curious where this was going.
After a couple of minutes of them each getting comfortable with being comfortable, Sledge inhaled and exhaled with an audible, low register, unmistakable sigh. To Snafu, it was an obscene and delicious sounding sigh, and went straight to his cock, and he then got some idea of what he might meander toward if left to it. Snafu had a sense of coming alive, energy pulsing through his limbs in symbolic parallel to all the blood rushing to his dick. He wasn’t necessarily convinced Eugene was onboard for all of this, except there wasn’t any sign of any resistance yet...
Sledge felt the energy coming off Snafu, and noted the equivalent way they were both breathing harder, and their bodies were revving up and needing to consume something. Sledge was game to pull away and check Snafu’s eyes, because he was comfortable doing anything with Snafu, and because Sledge was the curious type and, really, it all seemed so innocent and harmless. He appreciated an outsider would see danger in this, but he knew it was good. It felt good.
Snafu sent Eugene an intense stare as his meandering hand slowed up, trickled only a little between Eugene's shoulder and neck, then just his neck. They exchanged looks of care and hunger and astonishment. Nothing but good news to one another. The danger that was there that didn’t bother Sledge was a total turn on for Snafu.
Snafu's eyes had their fill of Sledge's, so they wandered down Sledge’s body, hoping to see other signs of arousal like the night before. Sitting as Sledge was, with his legs bent, it wasn't too clear. But just Snafu’s looking, his shift in interest, was a leap Sledge registered and he arched his eyebrows at Snafu.
Breathing got harder. There could have been pretending that this was not happening, but it was dark and Snafu was not inclined to deny his desires with the war still raging and with the Marines not about to let him go home.
Sledge was willing to following what felt right, desperate to know truth, comfort, anything positive. This.
Snafu released Eugene and searched for any sense of what Eugene would be up for next.
Sledge just continued breathing and looking. He didn’t know what to do.
"Fuck," Snafu whispered and hauled himself up, heel of his hand going straight to his crotch for friction duty - cause at least it was something - and he turned and said, "Come on," and lumbered past the tree line beyond the row of tents and tried not to think about how Sledge might not...
But then Snafu heard Sledge’s crunchy footsteps following, and Snafu turned to see Sledge had implemented the same hand-on-crotch plan as he moved.
Snafu stopped near a tree into the forest, his back to the road, and he whipped open his dungarees, knowing Sledge was gonna be there in a second. He grabbed his grateful straight and hard cock and immediately started pumping away, leaning on the tree with his other elbow, not sure what else to do. He just needed to relieve this build up and he was making the most of what was surely going to be a short go.
Eugene arrived and breathed audibly, whispering, "Holy..." but he didn't complete the thought upon watching the intensity that was Snafu working his own cock even from the rear view that Sledge had as he approached. He slowly circled around to look, and Snafu told Sledge he was jerking off just for him with his wildly intense and pleased and concerned look and his “Fuck, Sledgehamma,” whisper.
Sledge needed to get some strokes in on his own dick before possibly coming at the sight of Snafu even more debauched than usual, so started opening his pants.
"That's it, Sledgehammer," Snafu grinned, thrilled again by Sledge's participation, enthusiasm, acceptance. Snafu spoke in low, lush tones. "That's it…This is good…"
Sledge made a whimper upon grabbing his dick and getting his own rhythm started. Snafu's knees almost buckled at the sound.
There was no way Sledge could stop but as he pumped his dick harder and harder, he was reminded of the hard satisfying but sensationless thrusting (raping) in his nightmare and he felt so guilty and undeserving. But Snafu was there cheering him on, giving a different possible focus.
"This is good, so good," Snafu rambled on, eyes sparkling as he just could not believe they were in this moment. Had he wanted to make it something more, he was quickly running out of time because touching himself while Sledge was heaving and sighing and intensely pumping his own cock and making such an intense face…well, it had Snafu coming shortly with a gasp.
Sledge got close but was not 100% able to turn off thoughts and feelings from his horrible dreams. Snafu watched Sledge with such hungry eyes helplessly, and Sledge didn't know how to bring together all this craziness. He came, but not without guilt. "Fuck," he muttered quietly, shaking his head, grinning weakly to try to cover it all up.
"'Whatsamatter Sledgehammer?" Snafu asked a bit nervously, pulling his fly back together.
A signature Sledge thin-grin, a shrug. "Not sure. Guess…guess it seems wrong. Wrong things in my head as I…I don’t know."
Snafu nodded and chuckled mildly as they put themselves back together. Snafu tried to model for Sledge shaking it the fuck off. Poor Sledge, holding himself to such a high standard. Sledge got more serious and slow and Snafu knew that this was quite an upping of the ante between them. They stumbled into each other as they walked back, testing, touching, catching each others' eyes.
Sledge grew certain he did not deserve to top off an arousal that started with a rape dream.
Monsterous.
*****
"Trust me, you don't want nothing to do with that," the MP insisted, lip curling, face contorting.
"Jus’ wanna talk to her," Sledge muttered back, trying not to seem as unhinged and psychotic as he felt, having arrived there at Snafu’s urging. He didn't know why else he was there - it was not expected to go well.
"Johnny, is someone there?"
The MP rolled his eyes. "Too late for you now."
"Johnny, let him through, you big bully."
"She's all yours," he scoffed. "I'll be back in 30.” He walked off into the night.
Sledge watched him go, not sure why he didn't correct the guy. He only needed about five minutes to say his piece and go. Sledge stepped into her quarters and she instantly approached him. She was in a light pink silky kimono. It was so foreign a sight he might as well have stepped into Arabian Nights. He was distracted by it enough to be thrown off course, confused, forgetting who he was, what brought him there. She walked toward him slowly, saying in a friendly, weirdly cheerful way, "Well hi there, Marine." She kept her lips apart, as if waiting to see what he would do.
He felt his clothes hanging on his frame after so much weight loss in the recent weeks. He never felt more aware of how unclean he was, though he’d showered plenty since returning from Peleliu.
"Don't be shy, come on in," she said, lower, changing tactics.
Sledge licked his lips and with her invitation, found the motor commands to send to his legs to shuffle toward her, uncertain how close he should get, how close he wanted to get. God damn he hated her, but she was alluring in such effective ways. Not that it would take much in that environment.
Noting his stare at the robe, she grabbed the opportunity. "Like what you see?" she asked, lightly gripping one lapel, touching her chest with her fingertips, pulling the fabric away, flashing more skin.
He instinctively looked away, made aware he'd been staring, not prepared for this at all. "Uh, I, wasn’t…" he stammered.
"Like a drink?" she offered. She had a lot of tactics.
Suddenly the room spun to a focus on the pitcher as she lifted it. Everything in peripheral vision blurred, like a fisheye lens. He just saw her holding that pitcher again. The rage flooded back.
"Ma’am, I don't want anything from you," he said resentfully.
She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?" She put it down the pitcher and closed the gap between them. "You’re here for something.” She reached up to drag a hand down his chest. “What's your pleasure Marine?"
That she knew to call him "Marine" rather than “soldier” or “Joe” was a little impressive.
"Well, I just wanted to let you know," he said, rehearsed, working to stick to the script, "You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't a’ been there right when we got back, handing out juice with a stupid sign saying ‘something sweet for you.’ We were not prepared for that. Why wouldn’t you just leave us alone? You didn’t belong here, and I wish to God I never seen ya."
Now she was surprised, not sure what to do with this. "OK...so, you came back here to tell me no thanks for a cup of juice you already drank?"
Her comment was myopic on the surface, but Sledge suddenly felt absolutely transparent, like she was able to see everything about him, a movie of all his deeds played in one moment for her to judge. He felt hot and nauseous and greasy. "Forget it," he muttered, and turned to go, heart racing and a little panicked. Pissed at Snafu for sending him there.
“How about,” she mewed, “instead of this drink, I give you something else?” Sledge paused after the couple of steps he’d taken to get away. She padded behind him and danced her fingers up his arm, up to shoulder, his neck, and then her other hand joined and started rubbing lightly on his shoulders.
He enjoyed it and utterly could not enjoy it. But he was frozen to do much about it. She had gained power over him somehow.
She rubbed harder and he melted a bit. He’d been hard on her. She was being kind. And she was a pretty little thing. She guided him to sit on the cot as she kept working his shoulders loose. “That’s better, right, Marine?” She moved her hands down to rub his back, and Sledge felt his cock twitch alive. This was not how he thought this would go. He was there to communicate to her what he wanted to let her know, and then leave, to put it all to rest.
She let her hand slip around to his sides, found entrance up each side of his t shirt to make skin on skin contact. “Just let me take care of you,” she offered. “I’m a nurse; it’s what I do.” Sledge shivered. Her hands lightly circled and played their way forward to his stomach, and she was pressing her body against his back. Her lips were close to his ear, breathing sweet, slow, and heavy.
He continued to enjoy it and utterly not enjoy it. He didn’t deserve this.
“Now, just let me,” she introduced her actions, and opened his dungarees and reached in. She sighed dramatically. He was fully hard, and she rubbed her hand over his underwear. "Let me take care of you, give you what you need after that terrible time,” she pleaded.
That incensed Sledge some, because what the fuck did she know about how bad it was? But he still wasn’t able to participate, let alone take any control. He felt the press of her soft breasts against him and he felt the tingle and anticipation coursing through him. So confused.
She stood, and he heard her robe drop to the ground, but he didn’t look. She stepped in front of him. He looked. She was perfect. He enjoyed it but. But. But. Also he was angry. Was it OK to let her take care of him? Would he really want to give her the satisfaction?
“You can touch me,” she said kindly as she straddled him. “I know you might not think you deserve something good, but it’s OK. You do. You can.”
He reached around to her smooth, soft back to help hold her on his lap, but that was it. It was the least controversial thing he could do. She kissed his neck, grinded her hips into him. It felt good but he didn't want it to. He resented she could do that. The more sure of herself she seemed, rubbing and pressing, the more resentful he grew.
Her hands trailed down each of his arms symmetrically, but they slid against his sores, and it hurt a little, distracted him more from any pleasure. She pulled away to look at the odd texture of his arms and took on a look of disgust. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.
Some nurse. Sledge knew what to do.
"You don’t belong here," Sledge said calmly as he pulled his knife out and stabbed her right through the heart.
*******
Sledge woke to the warm feeling of blood gushing onto him. When he appreciated that it wasn’t real, he found new exasperation with himself. Snafu was still asleep, so Sledge laid there alone, lamenting that he might never be fit to return to civilization.
****
The next morning, Snafu saw Sledge’s despair, his slowness of movement. In the first aside he could get with Sledge as they went to chow, he asked, “Same dream again, Sledgehammer?”
Sledge shrugged. “Kind of.”
“I get the draw on you this time?”
“You weren’t there."
“No killing this time? That’s an improvement.”
Sledge inhaled. “Not really. This time, I flat killed that gal. No one - not you, no one - tried to stop me. In fact, it was like I was only there to see her because you told me to."
“Gotta let this shit go, Eugene. Let it go, just dreams,” Snafu tossed off, looking elsewhere, wanting the topic to close, so pissed at himself he didn’t wake up last night, and that he didn’t appear in the dream the right way. He resolved to make it up to Sledge.
*****
Snafu needs you to click here so he can make it up to Sledge in Part 2