fic - sledge/snafu -
title: untitled drabble
pairing: sledge/snafu
rating: pg-13-r - very very vague sex
author's note: these two i hate these two
disclaimer: this is complete fiction and has nothing to do with the veterans so named. highest respect to them and their families.
~
Time would be counted by ash tainted fingers passing by lips, and the fading sound of birds as they finally settled down to sleep.
The ground would be warm against their backs, sun soaked and crackling as the insects made their way through the grass.
He would be there, right there, in a clean white shirt and grease stained jeans. His arm would be pressed against his, his jaw tilted up, relishing the sun as it shines upon his black curls.
He’d turn his face suddenly, his grey eyes turned green by the trees and grass and flowers. He’d place a hand on his shoulder, lean in close and whisper, breath hot, hot, hot against his ear. The hand would inch up, past his jaw, to cup his cheek, pads of calloused fingers curling just at the edge of his hair. His other slowly unbuttoning his shirt, releasing his pale white skin to the welcoming golden light, and begin to flit across his collar bone, mapping out each shift of blissfully attached muscle and tendon.
He, himself would lift up the other man’s shirt. Take it off and let the soft cotton fall the earth and he’d touch and touch and brush over every scar and wonder how they got there and how he would fix it.
Everything would be slow, slow presses of lips on lips and hands clasping to hands. They wouldn’t rush.
They would move together, rocking in and in and in, their blood racing through their veins, the bumps and bruises scattering their skin, the tight, tight chests, and fluttering breathes, the taste of salt and cigarettes, they would weave in and out of one another, softly erasing every flaw until all they had was their perfect indecent poetry written all over their bodies.
But Sledge wakes up, and his perfect world is lost, long gone on train tracks, and turned uniform clad backs.
pairing: sledge/snafu
rating: pg-13-r - very very vague sex
author's note: these two i hate these two
disclaimer: this is complete fiction and has nothing to do with the veterans so named. highest respect to them and their families.
~
Time would be counted by ash tainted fingers passing by lips, and the fading sound of birds as they finally settled down to sleep.
The ground would be warm against their backs, sun soaked and crackling as the insects made their way through the grass.
He would be there, right there, in a clean white shirt and grease stained jeans. His arm would be pressed against his, his jaw tilted up, relishing the sun as it shines upon his black curls.
He’d turn his face suddenly, his grey eyes turned green by the trees and grass and flowers. He’d place a hand on his shoulder, lean in close and whisper, breath hot, hot, hot against his ear. The hand would inch up, past his jaw, to cup his cheek, pads of calloused fingers curling just at the edge of his hair. His other slowly unbuttoning his shirt, releasing his pale white skin to the welcoming golden light, and begin to flit across his collar bone, mapping out each shift of blissfully attached muscle and tendon.
He, himself would lift up the other man’s shirt. Take it off and let the soft cotton fall the earth and he’d touch and touch and brush over every scar and wonder how they got there and how he would fix it.
Everything would be slow, slow presses of lips on lips and hands clasping to hands. They wouldn’t rush.
They would move together, rocking in and in and in, their blood racing through their veins, the bumps and bruises scattering their skin, the tight, tight chests, and fluttering breathes, the taste of salt and cigarettes, they would weave in and out of one another, softly erasing every flaw until all they had was their perfect indecent poetry written all over their bodies.
But Sledge wakes up, and his perfect world is lost, long gone on train tracks, and turned uniform clad backs.