FIC: Sad Songs to Keep Me Awake, part 6 of 6 (Band of JoBros, Nick/Nix, Joe/Luz)
Happy birthday, londondrowning! As a gift, take the conclusion to a story that probably only you still care about, haha. Sorry it's been so long, guys. If anybody's been waiting to read until it was actually finished (anybody? No?), well, now it's finished! Drumroll please.
Title: Sad Songs to Keep Me Awake (6/6)
Fandom: Band of Jonas Brothers
Pairings: Joe Jonas/George Luz, Nick Jonas/Lewis Nixon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9840 words (out of 49,320 total)
Disclaimer: Hopefully it is obvious that this is entirely fictional.
Summary: The Jonas Brothers defeat Hitler.
WARNINGS: Underage (16 years old). Older dude/younger dude. (Also, for the whole fic, incest, though not in this part.)
Author's Note: Big thanks to miss_bennie and irishmizzy, without whom none of this would exist. For previous installments, see: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five or use the tag. And with this, our story is complete! It's only been a year and a half.
**
It never fails, whenever Nix wants to be left alone to drink in peace, he's got an entire goddamn regiment knocking down his door. Almost before Jonas is even gone, Dick's already shown up, calling, "Nix?" down the hallway, sounding worried and uncertain.
Nix closes his eyes for a second, gathering up his strength. "In here," he finally calls back.
Dick appears in the living room door a minute later, his helmet in his hand. He stands in the doorway for a long moment, watching Nix. "You all right?" he says finally.
Nix snorts. "Want a drink?" he asks, offering Winters the bottle of whiskey he's holding.
Dick shrugs and puts his helmet down on an end table, coming over to sit next to Nix on the couch. He runs a hand through his hair, settling back against the cushions like he's tired. Nix hears his knees creak a little.
"Was that Jonas just leaving?" Winters says after a second, his voice very, very neutral.
"Yep," Nix says, taking another swig from the bottle. He is not nearly drunk enough to cope with this day.
"He looked upset," Winters says, that same lack of expression, that same careful, almost gentle tone. "Everything okay?"
For God's sake. Nix presses the heel of one hand against his eye, trying to beat the headache back. He presses until he can see patterns on the inside of his eyelid, white streaks of light. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he says.
For a long moment Dick doesn't say anything, and Nix has his eyes closed, so he can't even see what he's doing. Finally Dick sighs. "Long day," he says, and he takes the whiskey bottle out of Nix's hand. When Nix looks up he's taking a long drink from it. Nix watches Dick's adam's apple move, watches him swallow. He's very clean shaven again now that they're in Germany. Nix had sort of gotten used to how he looked in foxholes, a little grubbier.
When Dick's done with his swig, he hands the bottle back to Nix and Nix drinks too, putting his mouth where Dick's just was. Somewhere at home Kathy's probably getting primly sloshed on wine with someone from the country club. The glass of the bottle's cool under Nix's hands. "She doesn't just hate the dog," he says. "The dog hates her too. It used to always dig up her rose bushes."
Dick smiles a little, the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"The dog was goddamn smarter than I was," Nix mutters, and takes another drink. "I can't believe she's keeping it."
"Maybe you could get visitation," Dick says.
Is that... a joke? Nix stares at him. Dick smiles a little. He is joking. Weird. "Like in that Cary Grant movie."
Oh, right. "The Awful Truth," Nix says.
"Yeah," Dick says.
Nix closes his eyes and slumps back against the couch, letting his head rest against the cushion. He's so tired of everything, and he's pretty drunk, and maybe he'll just pass out. Maybe he could just stay passed out until all this is over with, never have to wake up and face his pathetic life. "The truth is awful sometimes, isn't it?" he says vaguely. "Sometimes it's just really goddamn awful."
Dick takes the bottle away from him again, his hand warm when it touches Nix's. "Sometimes," he says.
"Sorry I yelled at you earlier," Nix says.
Dick shifts a little. He's sitting so close Nix can feel the warmth of his body radiating out against his thigh, his side. Somehow just having Dick around, being so inhumanly calm all the time, makes Nix feel like all his ragged edges are being soothed, patted back and put into place, wrapped up and fixed. Like everything's going to be okay. "It's all right," Dick says. "You weren't really yelling at me."
"Still," Nix says.
He should apologize to Nick, too, later. He doesn't even really remember what he said, just remembers the look on Nick's face right before he left, that Nix must've been unkind. It's not the kid's fault that his wife's divorcing him, not Nick's fault that Nix is the worst husband on God's green earth. Not Nick's fault the Germans are killing Jews, either. Nix is an asshole, but it's okay. He'll apologize later, when he's sobered up.
**
After those awful couple of days, things get easier somehow. Dick makes sure he's taken care of, and they get away from that camp, and he remembers that he never cared that much about Kathy in the first place, so he can tamp his sense of failure down again and manage to cope. The only thing still making him feel really terrible is how Nick's avoiding him. Nix keeps trying to get him alone to say he's sorry, but every time he sees Nick, Nick's surrounded by his whole platoon, his brother, and if Nixon ever manages to catch his eye Nick looks away as fast as he can. Nixon hates to admit it, but he's starting to miss the kid, starting to feel antsy all the time. What the fuck asshole thing did he even say to him that night he was so wasted? Is Nick still mad Nix was married?
Stopped by the blocked roads on the way to Berchtesgaden, Nix can see Nick up ahead, running to put grenades on the blockade with one of his friends. He's laughing, tearing along with his legs flashing underneath him, like he doesn't even care that he's not speaking to Nix, like everything in his universe is fine. It makes Nix irritable. "Where the fuck are the engineers?" he says. Maybe there's a little too much edge to his voice because Winters blinks his eyes open from where his head is tipped back in the sunshine and looks at him for a long, measuring moment before he shrugs.
It's not until VE Day that Nix even manages to talk to Nick. Nix has sent the highlights of Goering's wine cellar back to the house where he's billeted, and is sticking around to supervise the companies as they come to pick up a truckload each. And when the representatives of Easy Company show up, they're Nick and Malarkey. Nix wonders for a second if Dick was the one who sent them, if Dick's trying to help him out, give Nix an opportunity to talk to Nick -- but Dick wouldn't do that. Dick's probably just relieved he doesn't have to worry about Nix messing with Nick anymore; it's not exactly like he'd be in a hurry to try to patch things up between them.
When Nick sees Nixon, he frowns like he wasn't expecting Nix to be there and sticks to Malarkey's side, skulking around the edges of the room like he thinks he can hide in the very small crowd. He stares at the bottles of liquor as though he's taking his decisions of which to take very seriously, like he knows anything about alcohol.
Nixon has gotten that twitchy, energized feeling in his body he always gets when he sees Nick, and God, he just wants to touch him, take him back to his place. Or if that's too much, at least wants to be able to talk to him, for things to be okay between them again, for Nix not to feel like such an asshole every time Nick looks at him.
Nix had saved a couple of the best bottles of scotch, keeping them with him just in case anything happened to the stuff he sent back to the house. He picks one up and takes a deep breath before he walks up to where Nick's standing. Malarkey's wandered away, so Nick's actually alone without apparently having noticed, and when Nix comes up behind his shoulder and says, "Hey," Nick starts a little bit. When he finally turns he has an odd, determined expression on his face, and he looks at Nix like he'd like to back away but is willing himself to hold his ground.
Nix holds the bottle of whiskey out to him, feeling awkward. Which is so idiotic. "You should try this one," Nix says, trying to act normal, confident, like he's just giving Nick a tip. "I think you'd like it." It's a really excellent whiskey, not that Nick will even be able to appreciate it. But that's how much Nix wants to make it up to him, that he's willing to give him the best bottle of whiskey he has.
Nick looks at the bottle for a long moment, then up at Nix. He looks like he doesn't quite know what to make of the peace offering. "Um, thanks," he says after a second. He takes the bottle out of Nix's hand, being careful not to accidentally touch him. Nix pretends he doesn't notice.
But Nick taking something from him -- that's a good sign, right? "So, uh, how've you been?" Nix asks him.
Nick's looking down at the label of the bottle, thumb fiddling at the corner where it's peeling a little. "Fine," he says. Color's coming up in his cheeks, ears turning pink. Well, that's more like it, anyway.
"Hey," Nix says, deciding to go for it and dropping his voice even more. "I, uh, could use some help taking more of this up to my quarters. You wanna do me a favor and give me a hand?"
It's pretty transparent, but that's the point, right? And he does have another crate of wine bottles that he wants to bring back with him, so it's not a total lie. After a second Nick nods once. He still has that strange expression on his face and he's not really looking Nix in the eye, but he's flushed, so. "Yeah, okay," Nick says.
"Good," Nix says, touching Nick's arm, but instead of leaning into him Nick's body goes a little more still and rigid, uncomfortable. His eyes flick up to Nix's face like he's a skittish animal and Nix smiles at him, trying to get him to relax. Maybe he needs to get some of that whiskey into Nick first thing when they get back to Nix's house.
Nick doesn't say very much as they drive back, but the jeep's so loud it's not too conducive to conversation anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, Nix keeps seeing Nick glance over at him, Nick's knuckles white on the bottle of scotch he's still holding.
It reads as nervous to Nix, like Nick's unsure of himself, and it's making Nix a little tense. But when Nix gets them inside the door of the house, saying, "Well, here it is, home sweet home," the second the door closes behind them, Nick grabs the front of Nix's uniform and pulls him down to kiss him.
Oh God, Nix is so relieved. They're okay after all -- he doesn't even have to apologize, because things are going to be fine, Nick's forgotten all about it. It was no big deal, just a stupid fight over nothing while Nix was drunk. He kisses Nick back, sliding his hand around to the hot skin of the back of Nick's neck, into the curls there, and Nick's already starting to undo the buttons on Nix's shirt, fingers working away. He must have set the bottle down while Nix wasn't looking, and Nick's a good kisser these days -- he's good at a lot of things now, a fast learner. Today Nick's kissing more aggressively than usual, tongue sliding confidently into Nix's mouth, walking Nix back towards the couch. It's maybe the first time Nick's really taken control of things like this, like he's in charge of what they're doing, and it's strange, especially after the quiet blushing Nick from earlier. The quiet, blushing Nick from all this time, really.
For a second Nix wonders if Nick got all this confidence from fucking somebody else while he's been ignoring Nix, but oh God, he can't think about that. There's no way, anyway. Nick's not like that.
Nick pushes Nix down onto the couch, hard, and Nix laughs as he falls backwards. "Whoa there, champ," he says, landing off-balance, expecting Nick to laugh too, but Nick doesn't even crack a smile as he climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. Instead he's shoving Nix's shirt off his shoulders, baring his chest, kissing along his throat. After a second he starts using his teeth, hard enough that it's actually a little painful, that Nix has to try not to wince away. He's getting really hard anyway, though, Nick so eager, his hands everywhere, his mouth. He's probably leaving marks.
They wiggle out of their clothes, Nick quiet and intense the whole time, focused and all over Nix, pushing him back, pulling his undershirt over his head, working his pants down. When they're both naked Nick says, "Do you still have that Vaseline?" and, oh. Nix hadn't thought... but it's not like he's complaining.
"Uh, yeah," Nix says, and points toward the bathroom. Nick nods shortly and disappears, naked, into the other room, leaving Nix to catch his breath. He can't even believe this is happening after Nick avoiding him for so long. He's happy and bewildered all at once, slumping back onto the couch, trying to figure out why Nick forgave him so abruptly. The windows in the living room look out the back of the house -- basically over a cliff so all he can see are the mountains, hazy and green in the distance. Fucking Nazis and their views. The beauty of it feels strange after everything.
When Nick reappears he goes back to it with the same focus as before, climbing back on top of Nix, kissing him fiercely. Nix is focused on kissing him back, breathless, his hands in Nick's hair, on his back, so it takes him a few minutes to realize that Nick's used the Vaseline to slick up his fingers and has already slid one into himself. Whoa, what on earth?
"Nick," he says, pulling back and blinking at him, his hand over Nick's, where he's just felt him working himself open. He can't help thinking about Nick in Hagenau the first time they did this, how tentative and nervous he was, how he let Nix do everything, how he trusted him. Nix doesn't know what happened in the meantime. "Hey," he says. "Let me."
Nick shakes his head, still not really looking Nix in the eye. He's flushed dark, color high in his cheeks. "It's fine," he says. "I'm ready." He bats Nix's hand away and before Nix can stop him, he's slipped his finger out again and has grabbed Nix's cock, starting to shove himself down onto it.
Jesus, what's he doing? "Careful!" Nix says. But it's too late, Nick's already forced the tip inside, and it's obviously too much too fast -- he makes a little choked, hurt noise and stops when he's not even very far down, gasping, and when Nix looks at him his eyes are watering.
"Hey," Nix says as soothingly as he can with Nick all hot and tight on his cock, trying hard to hold himself still. God, why is Nick trying to go so fast, like he's trying to pretend he's an old hand at this, like he knows everything? What's the goddamn hurry? Nix reaches out and pushes Nick's hair back from his forehead, stroking his thumb along Nick's skin. "Hey, shh, kiddo, you okay?"
"I'm fine," Nick says, but his voice is all ragged and he's blinking, bright red, and after a second he drops his forehead to Nix's shoulder so Nix can't see his face, still breathing hard, holding himself very still. "God, I'm fine, just a second."
Nix turns his head to kiss Nick's hair, down behind his ear, brushing his mouth over the soft skin there. "'S okay," Nix murmurs. "Take your time."
"I'm fine," Nick says, his voice a little louder, almost angry, and then he starts squirming, working himself down onto Nix in little twisting movements. God, Nix is so hard, it's driving him crazy, Nick wiggling down onto him, but it's unnerving him how Nick isn't looking at him, how he's trying to go so fast like he's got something to prove. His breathing's harsh and uneven, and he's obviously trying to take more than he's ready for, little grunts that sound like pain every time he gets more of Nix's cock inside him. His erection's fading, his cock getting soft as he forces himself to take more and more of Nix's dick, as he hurts himself on it.
Nix puts his hands on Nick's hips and holds him tightly, trying to get him to stop, slow it down. "C'mon, chief," he says. Nick's skin is hot under his hands, and Nick keeps trying to move but Nix won't let him. "Nick. Slow down." He moves one hand to Nick's cock, wrapping around it, starting to stroke Nick firmly while he holds him still. As he jerks him off, Nix leans in and kisses the corner of Nick's mouth. Nick doesn't kiss him back, but he lets Nix kiss him for at least a few seconds before he pulls away. He's a little harder now, cock stiffening.
"C'mon," Nick says, jerking downward again, catching Nix by surprise so he doesn't manage to stop him. The friction of it feels so good, Nick so hot and slick on top of him, that Nix accidentally jerks up into him a little bit, sliding another inch in. Fuck. Nick winces, but keeps forcing himself down, and with those last two bursts of movement Nix is all the way inside, balls against Nick's ass, Nick tight around him.
He expects Nick to take a minute, to let himself adjust, but there's barely any time at all before Nick's pushing himself up again, starting to fuck himself on Nix's cock. He's shaking all over, his body hot and strained, and it's too much, why is Nick doing this?
"Nick, hold still," Nix says, trying to stop Nick again, his hands tightening on Nick's hips.
"Why?" Nick says. He sounds mad, frustrated, and he keeps trying to rock, trying to shift position.
"You're not even hard," Nix says. Nick's softened again since he started moving so quickly, even with Nix stroking him. God, what is he doing? "What's the point if you're not even hard?"
"God," Nick mutters. "Fine." But he holds still for a second, letting Nix adjust the angle of his cock inside him until finally Nick gasps again, a less pained sound this time.
That must be right. "Good boy," Nix says, and holds him there, letting his cock press against that place inside Nick, and Nick's stomach muscles are shaking. "That's it, take it easy," he says as he reaches for Nick's cock again, wrapping his hand around it firmly, starting to stroke him harder. Nick's straightened his back, sitting all carefully on Nix's cock, and now that Nix is hitting the right place, Nick hardens right up, firm under Nix's fingers. As Nix runs his hand up Nick's cock, he presses out a drop of precome that drips down the side, slicking him up as Nix jerks him off. That's better. "Isn't that better?" Nix says, voice muffled a little in Nick's hair. He kisses the side of his head.
"Whatever," Nick says, his voice shaky. "I guess." He has his hands on Nix's shoulders, and he's starting to wiggle a little bit, like the strain of holding still is getting to him. Finally he says, "Can I move now?"
Nix almost laughs. God, what a kid. "By all means," he says. He kisses Nick's neck and Nick starts to shift, pushing himself up slowly, then dropping down again, pressing back onto him. Nix matches Nick's rhythm with his hand, and as Nick fucks himself he seems to figure out that he's in control, that he can hit just the angle he wants, go just as fast and as deep as he feels like. Nix watches him find the right speed, watches him find the right place and fuck himself down on it over and over, a funny focused sex expression on his face as he concentrates on what he's feeling, as he learns how to do it, what he likes best. The flush has spread down his chest, pinking up the skin there.
God, it's good, the pressure of him around Nix's cock, the friction as he fucks himself, Nick's skin hot everywhere it's touching him, the look on Nick's face as he moves. "God, fuck, that's so good," Nix says, gasping a little bit as Nick twists on him. "Oh, right there, champ, doing so great, fuck, missed this."
Nick blinks at him when he says the last part, pausing for a split second, but Nix is all caught up in the feelings, touching Nick everywhere he can, feeling Nick's cock jerk in his hand every time Nick thrusts down onto his dick. And anyway, it's just a hitch before Nick goes back to moving, closing his eyes as he does. It's strange -- the last time they did this Nick couldn't stop looking at Nix, staring him in the eye, but this time he keeps his eyes closed, his head tipped back, like he's not concentrating on anything but his own body, on how it feels to keeping rocking back on Nix's cock. It's sexy as hell, the pale stretch of Nick's exposed throat, his flushed cheeks, his dick hard in between his legs, Nix's cock moving in and out of his body.
"God, yeah, just like that, good boy." Nix isn't even paying attention to what he's saying. He just wants Nick to know how good he looks, how crazy Nix has been going without this, how much he's missed it. "You're a fucking natural, God, missed you so much."
Nick's moving faster and faster, breathing harder, balls tightening under Nix's hand. "That's it, c'mon, come for me, chief," Nix says, and Nick grunts and does, hard, shooting up Nix's stomach, slowing down his movements on Nix's cock as he comes, moving in long, languid motions riding it out, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, and Nix takes over, holding Nick's back and shoving his hips up into him, stabbing into Nick as he tries to finish himself off. It only takes him a little bit before he's coming inside of Nick too, pressing his forehead against Nick's chest, and God, it feels amazing. He's all sweaty and sticky and Nick's the same, still holding himself up instead of slumping into Nix now that he's done. Nix is running his hands all over Nick's back, trying to pull Nick into him in the afterglow, but Nick doesn't really relax, keeps sitting upright, muscles tight.
Nix is still trying to catch his breath when Nick pulls away, getting to his feet on shaky legs, wincing as Nix slides out of him. When he turns around to look for -- well, probably something to clean himself up with -- his asshole is red and swollen and open, and God, he should've gone slower. Nix doesn't know what's gotten into him. It was really fucking sexy, but pretty disturbing at the same time, and Nix doesn't know what to make of it.
"You okay?" Nix says.
Nick's moving like he's a little sore, all ginger and tentative. He doesn't look at Nix as he starts to collect his clothes from all over the floor. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he says.
"No, just," Nix says. "Um, that was kind of intense."
Nick shrugs like he doesn't really think so, and disappears into the bathroom with his stuff. After a second Nix hears the water running.
God, Nix is sore all over and he wasn't even the one who got fucked. He grabs a Nazi blanket off one of the chairs and starts mopping himself up, his joints creaking like he's a lot older than he is. His dick's sore. Jesus.
He's just managed to get his boxers back on, hoping that Nick'll stick around to help him drink some more of this whiskey -- and maybe they could go for round 2, too, Nix wouldn't be opposed -- but when Nick comes out of the bathroom he's fully dressed in his uniform, not even rumpled. He's wearing his goddamn helmet, for Christ's sake. What's that about?
"Hey," Nix says uncertainly from where he's sprawled on the couch, feeling old and debauched and decidely unmilitary. "Don't you want to stick around? I've got quite a bit of booze, you might've noticed." There are bottles in crates everywhere.
Nick looks at him for a long moment, his face completely unreadable. Finally he says, "Why would I stick around?"
Nix... doesn't really know what to say to that. "Uh, I dunno," he says, off balance. "It'd be fun?"
The look Nick's giving him makes him feel very small somehow. Nix doesn't even know what he's done, why Nick's being so weird. "Maybe you should call your real friends if you want a drinking buddy," he says. "This is just sex, remember?"
Whoa, whoa, who said this was just sex? "Since when?" Nix says. He feels like he missed a very important memo somewhere along the lines here.
"Uh, since always," Nick says. "You made that really clear the other day."
Nix opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't know what to say. He thinks he's just sitting there gaping at Nick, his mouth open like a fish.
"What'd you think?" Nick says, his tone moving toward mocking. "That we were going to go home and have babies and live happily ever after? Get real."
Oh, God, that sounds horribly familiar. Nix said that to him, didn't he? God, he's such an asshole. "Nick," he starts to say, trying to think how to apologize, how to take it back. He didn't mean it. He says so many goddamn things he doesn't really mean.
But Nick looks very pale and sad now and before Nix can get anything out, Nick says in a lower, quiet voice, "See you around." And he's gone before Nix can do anything to stop him. The bottle of scotch Nix gave him is still sitting on the end table -- Nick didn't even bother to take it.
So Nix gets drunk alone. He doesn't know why he was expecting anything different.
**
It's strange with the war over, moving into Austria, everything warm and beautiful. He has the points to go home, unlike most of the enlisted. He could leave at any time. He watches Nick out of the corner of his eye, then sits around with Dick in the sunshine as Dick obsesses over the Pacific theater, Nix lighting up a cigarette and wondering if he should go with him. Nothing keeping him with the 101st, after all. Nothing in the least. He's screwed everything up, and at least Dick still likes him. He's pretty sure, anyway.
Nix desperately wants to apologize to Nick, since apparently he was an even bigger asshole than he thought he was, but Nick's avoiding him, and anyway, Nix would probably just fuck it up even worse if he tried. What would he even say? "It's not just sex, I actually kind of like you"? Not exactly the world's most romantic speech. Goddammit, "romantic." Why is he even thinking shit like that?
And it turns out being an occupying force is not the most entertaining thing in the world. Everyone's bored and antsy without much to do, wishing desperately they were home -- Dick has some athletic fields built for the jocks, and it helps a little. Nix sets up a nightly poker game for the officers. It's a good excuse to drink, and he's pretty buzzed one night as they finish up a game at his billet -- Speirs had to leave early to deal with one of his noncoms getting shot by some asshole in Dog Company, so that meant more alcohol for the rest of them. At least Harry's drunker than he is, stumbling into the door frame as he tries to leave. Nix has just shut the door behind the lot of them and gone to pour himself a final nightcap when someone knocks.
Harry probably forgot his hat or something. "Thought I just got rid of you," Nix says as he opens the door, but it's not Harry. It's Nick. He's got blood all over him, soaked dark into his uniform. What...? "Jonas," Nix says blankly.
"Can I come in?" Nick says, and pushes past Nix before Nix can even say anything.
Nix doesn't know what's going on here -- Nick hasn't spoken to him in he doesn't even know how long, and now he's hurt? "Are you okay?" Nix says, boggling. There's blood smeared on Nick's forehead and lots of it dark and drying on his shirt. What even happened? Is everyone getting shot tonight?
"Yeah, I'm fine," Nick says. "It's not my blood, it's Grant's. Mostly." As the door shuts behind them, Nick reaches up and tries to kiss Nix, his hand on the back of Nix's neck, pulling him down. His fingers are cold and shaky on Nix's skin.
"Whoa, whoa, hey," Nix says, pulling away. "What happened?"
Nick shakes his head dismissively and reaches out for Nix again. "I was just in the jeep with him. It's no big deal." He takes hold of the front of Nix's shirt and starts to pull him down, like he desperately needs Nix to kiss him. And it's not like Nix doesn't want to, just. Nick's shaking.
Nix grabs Nick's wrist to stop him, holding him still. "You're shaking," he says.
"God," Nick says, frowning and trying to pull his wrist out of Nix's grip. "I'm fine. What do you care, anyway? Do you want to fuck or not?"
Oh, for -- "Jesus," Nix says, finally losing his temper. He's drunk and frustrated and this strange, angry Nick makes him feel like shit. Nick didn't use to be like this -- Nix made him this way, like a goddamn asshole, and suddenly everything he's been wanting to say this whole time comes pouring out of him. "I care, okay? If you'd ever listen to me -- just, fuck, all right, I'm sorry. I should've told you I was married."
Nick's gone all still and hunched, like Nix is hitting him over and over instead of goddamn apologizing. "I don't care about that," he mutters at his shoes. Nix is still holding onto his wrist.
"Oh, the fuck you don't," Nix says.
Nick's head comes up and he glares like Nix has just accused him of eating babies or something. He actually shoves him, blood dried under his fingernails, but Nix holds tight to his wrist and Nick can't get any leverage. "Fuck you," Nick says, off-balance.
"For Christ's sake," Nix says, rocking back on his heels but staying upright without too much trouble. "I'm not accusing you of anything. You should care. I'm the asshole and I didn't mean all that shit I said, and I'm sorry."
Nick's breathing hard and glaring and he looks right on the edge of completely losing his shit. He can't seem to say anything.
"I didn't tell you because," Nix says, and then suddenly can't look at Nick anymore, has to look away, over his head. "Ugh, God. Because I didn't want to fuck this up. Ironically. And because most of the time I forgot I even had a wife."
There's a pause. When Nix finally brings himself to look at Nick again, Nick's not glaring anymore. He mostly just looks blank. "Oh," he says finally. There really is blood smeared all over him. "Mostly" Grant's, huh?
Goddamn kid, he's ridiculous. "Here, sit down," Nix says, pushing him towards a chair. "You're a mess." He goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth, running it under the faucet.
When he comes out again, Nick isn't sitting down, but at least he hasn't taken off. Nix goes over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, pressing down gently until Nick sits. When Nix crouches in front of him and starts to rub the blood off his face, Nick wrinkles his nose up like he feels silly, but at least he doesn't move away. Nix focuses on being very gentle and very careful as he cleans him up.
"So the blood's mostly Grant's," he says after awhile, quiet. "Some of it's yours?"
Nick sighs. "No," he says. "We caught the guy who shot him. So. Um. Yeah."
Oh. Speirs was going to take care of it. Nix winces a little and doesn't say anything.
"Yeah," Nick says at his expression. "Exactly."
The blood on Nick's forehead has dried, so Nix has to rub kind of hard, watching it come off in flakes. He sighs. "That's a bad night," he says. These things keep happening, even though the war's over, and it feels so much more awful now than it did when they all expected to die at any time. "Is Grant dead?"
Nick shrugs. "No," he says, in a tone of voice like wonders will never cease. "I guess he's going to make it.
Well, how about that. Nix tilts Nick's face to make sure he got all the blood, his thumb along Nick's jawline. "That's good," he says. The blood's all cleaned off, Nick's face flushed from being scrubbed. His mouth looks very soft and full, and Nix can't quite help himself -- he runs his thumb along Nick's smooth skin, the lack of stubble on his cheek.
Nick clears his throat. He's looking at Nix's mouth. "If I try to kiss you now, are you going to be all annoying about it?" he asks, but he's suppressing a smile as he says it.
Nix feels like his whole chest is opening up, seeing Nick look at him like that. The corners of his mouth twitching, the smile in his eyes. "That depends," Nix says, trying not to smile himself. Nick's cheek is soft under his hand, and he keeps rubbing his thumb there slowly, gentle. "Do you forgive me?"
Nick shrugs, but he's still suppressing that smile, looking happy in the same room as Nix for the first time in, well, awhile. "Yeah, I guess," he says, and Nix kisses him before he can even get the last word all the way out, kisses him and kisses him. It's going to be okay, God, it's actually somehow going to be okay. Nick has his hand on the back of Nix's neck.
**
Austria's pretty great after that. No one's too picky about where anyone sleeps now that they're off the front line, now that half the time guys are out all night drinking and not going back to their quarters. So Nick can spend the night at Nixon's billet if he wants to -- Nix can wake up and find him there with his hair all sleep-rumpled, kiss him when he's drowsy and soft and agreeable. Nick brings him the little nice things his mom sends him in the mail, and Nix is teaching him how to mix drinks, and the other officers are politely not saying anything about how often Nick seems to be at Nix's place.
The house Nixon's commandeered has a balcony in the back, and one morning he and Nick are sitting out there first thing, enjoying the weather. Nix is groggy and hungover, and Nick is just in his shorts, sprawled in one of the chairs, his feet up on the balcony railing. He's telling Nix a story about some musician he loves that Nix has never even heard of.
"Are you listening to me?" Nick says at the end of a long monologue that Nix might have sleepily lost track of.
"Hmm? Yeah," Nix says, but maybe spoils the effect by yawning hugely.
Nick rolls his eyes at him, but he's smiling. "You want a drink?" he asks.
Nix grins at him, surprised. It's early. Nick usually gets on him if he tries to drink this early. "You gonna make me one, sport?"
"Yeah," Nick says. He looks a little pleased with himself. "Why, don't you trust me? My mom sent me some powdered orange juice."
"Oh yeah?" Nix says. Nick's hair is falling over his forehead just so, and he's getting tan, skin all brown from the sun so his dogtags stand out silver against his chest. Nix likes looking at him. "There's still some of Goering's champagne left."
"I know," Nick says, smirking, and he jumps up to go inside. Nix looks out at the mountains and feels like life is pretty good.
Nick brings the mimosas out a few minutes later, handing one to Nix in one of the fancy champagne flutes that came with the house. They're sure a long way away now from the days of making terrible coffee in their helmets -- it's strange how it's almost hard to even feel like the same people. Nick perches on the arm of Nix's chair, taking a sip from his own glass. He doesn't look like such a kid anymore, more filled out now, shoulders broad, confidently making drinks like this.
"Thanks," Nix says, and he puts his arm around Nick's hip as Nick leans into him, letting them settle comfortably together. The day's bright and clear, the hills and valleys of the mountains all spread out below them, the sun hot on Nix's bare arm.
After a few minutes in silence, Nick shifts a little, clearing his throat. "Um," he says. He's fiddling with the stem of his glass, twirling it between his fingers slowly. "So what do you think you're going to do when we get back to the States?"
Well, there's a question Nix has been trying not to think about, what they're going to do when this is all over. He sighs, trying not to tense up, trying not to think about how different things are going to be when they're not in Europe, when they're back in their real lives. He finally says, as casually as he can, "Well, a place in Nixon, New Jersey called Nixon Nitration is calling my name, I'm afraid." He's not really looking forward to it, but what else is he going to do?
Strangely, Nick doesn't seem put off by that answer at all. He takes a sip of mimosa, trying to be all casual, but behind the glass he's smiling a little. After he swallows he says, nonchalantly, "I'm from New Jersey."
Oh. Well. So he is. Nix had almost forgotten that, but that's... well, that's something. Nix tries not to smile and he leans his shoulder into Nick a little more heavily, feeling the warm weight of Nick there. "You don't say," he says.
"Yep," Nick says, looking down at him. After a second he reaches down and brushes Nix's hair back from his forehead, his fingers warm on Nix's scalp, the easy confidence of the touch.
It's such a goddamn mess when you think about it -- Nick's probably going back to high school, and there's no way Nix should keep this going. But... even so. Nick's body has lost all its tension, gone loose and happy, relaxed. They don't have to decide anything now. "Well," Nix says. "What a happy coincidence."
"Yeah," Nick says. By now Nick's smiling so big, Nix can't even have second thoughts, really. It's that goofy, wide smile Nick gets so rarely, showing his crooked teeth, making him look younger than normal. "A happy coincidence."
And finally Nix can't help himself, he tugs until Nick slides into his lap, pulling him until he's close enough that Nix can kiss him. Nick's warm and smiling against his mouth, leaning into Nix's touch, and he kisses him like he never wants to stop.
**
Dear Joe and Nick,
I miss you. Come home.
Love,
Frankie
**
Joe's walking down the street of Zell am See, wondering what's for lunch, when a jeep pulls up beside him. "Hey, good lookin'," Luz says, leaning across the front seat of the car, his arm along the seat. He's grinning behind his sunglasses. "Want to do some fraternizing with a soldier?"
Joe grins back at him. "Why, I do declare," he says, doing his best Southern belle imitation, which is not very good. That just makes it funnier though, so, win-win.
Luz laughs. "Hop in."
Joe throws himself into the passenger seat and Luz hits the gas hard, so Joe's jerked backwards, and then they're flying along back roads, the wind in their hair, Luz taking turns so tight it's like being on a rollercoaster. Joe holds onto the dashboard for dear life, but even so, he keeps sliding across the seat and into Luz, which makes Luz laugh and then bump his hip back into Joe's, and then Joe slides the other way as they take a different turn, whooping. The wind's roaring past their ears so loudly Joe can't even hear anything, can just tell Luz is laughing from his expression.
Luz picks a little dirt road that goes around the lake, through the forest, weaving in and out so that the lake keeps coming in and out of view through the trees, sunlight reflecting off the water then gone again, the cool and dim of the light filtering through leaves. Luz has to slow down now that the road's meandering more, and finally he pulls the jeep off onto an even worse dirt road, the jeep bumping like crazy on its crappy army suspension, Joe bouncing all over the front seat. The road eventually takes them down to a little secret cove, where grass runs right down to the muddy bank of the lake. It's beautiful, all green and blue and hidden, middle of nowhere, and when Luz kills the engine he looks at Joe, smiling a little nervously.
"You like it?" he says. "I found it the other day."
Joe doesn't even quite know what to say. It's gorgeous. "Wow, it's..." Joe says, trailing off. "No one else knows about it?"
Luz looks at him, something in his eyes. "It's just ours," he says.
Joe feels a little shy, the way Luz is looking at him. Shy and good. He jumps out of the jeep, running a hand through his hair and suddenly feeling that it's sticking straight up from driving. He tries to flatten it down, and when he glances back at Luz, Luz is trying not to laugh at him. "Nice hair," Luz says.
"Shut up," Joe says. Luz's hair is so short it's not really messed up at all, the lucky dog.
But whatever, he knows how to fix it. "Last one in the water's a rotten egg!" Joe yells, and starts running for the shore, pulling his clothes off as he goes and leaving them strewn behind him.
"Hey!" Luz yells back, slow off the starting gate, his feet pounding behind Joe, trying to catch up.
Joe's stripped down to his shorts by the time he hits the water -- getting his pants off while he was running was a little bit of a trick, but Joe's nothing if not resourceful -- so he doesn't even have to hesitate before he plunges in, running straight in through the mud and out into the water. It's cold, all alpine stream fed, but Joe's gotten so hot in the sunshine that he doesn't even mind, his skin all sun-warmed and tan. "George Luz is a rotten egg!" he yells, water cool against his chest.
"Oh, fuck you," George grumbles from behind him, but then Joe is diving under the surface, everything green and quiet and submerged. The water feels really good against the hot skin of his face, and it's just so silent, it's like the whole world has ceased existing.
When he comes up again, Luz is just wading into the water, back where it's shallow enough for his feet to still touch, the bottom hem of his shorts just starting to get wet. He looks cold. Joe rolls onto his back in the water, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes, and floats with his arms out, looking up at the deep blue of the sky. Every day seems like the perfect day in Austria, it's weird. The water buoys him up.
Luz is taking forever getting in. Joe tips his head back so he can see him upside down, and Luz is barely in up to his waist. "God, you're still wading?" Joe says. "You giant wimp."
"It's cold!" Luz says. He's got his arms wrapped around his chest.
"Yeah," Joe says, closing his eyes and letting the sun shine on his face. "It's totally Bastogne out here. I'm dying."
There's some splashing behind him, and Luz must've gotten in suddenly because before Joe can even open his eyes, his head's being shoved down into the water by Luz's familiar hands, water pouring up his nose. God, that hurts, fuck.
Joe starts thrashing around, and when he gets himself to the surface again, Luz is laughing. "Oh, you fucker," Joe says, and tackles Luz back, dunking him while Luz is still laughing too hard to defend himself.
They wrestle around, shoving each other under until they're weak from laughing and struggling, out of breath with water up their noses, and Luz finally lets go of Joe. "Truce, truce," he says, and leans back in the water, letting himself start to float on his back like Joe was doing earlier. Joe joins him, looking up at the sky through the treetops, listening to the quiet. There are birds singing all around, dragonflies buzzing as they swoop over the surface of the lake.
"You think the Pacific will be like this?" Luz asks after a second.
God, the Pacific. They're in drills every day and all anyone talks about are points, how many they have, how many they need. Joe's a replacement, so he's not even close to having 85. He feels a little bad about how relieved he felt when he found out Luz is short too. But not that bad.
The idea of going into battle again, though. Joe can't think about it. He straightens up, stops floating. "I dunno," he says. Just thinking about the war has killed the mood a little bit, thinking about how they're going to have to go somewhere else far away and kill some more people. Maybe get killed, maybe not make it back after all, even after this reprieve, even after the war in Europe ending. All this relief of tension for nothing. "I'm tired of swimming." He's tired in general, all his muscles feel worn out, and the sun's making him feel like he could use a nap. He swims back to shore, Luz following in his wake, the water lapping against their shoulders.
On shore, Joe drags himself over to a clearing, where the sun makes it way through the trees, and collapses in a patch of grass in the sunshine, still dripping wet. Luz sprawls out next to him on his back, hair plastered to his forehead, water beading up on his bare chest. Even the dirt underneath them is warm, and it's hard to remember the Ardennes anymore, how cold they were. It's hard to remember what being cold even feels like, like every inch of them has thawed out.
Joe moves to rest his head on Luz's bare stomach, sighing happily and closing his eyes. "I'm not your goddamn pillow," Luz says, but Joe pretends he's already gone to sleep, making an exaggerated snoring sound.
With his eyes closed he can just feel Luz moving around, can't see what he's doing, and then after a second there's an ear-splitting whistle. Joe's eyes fly open. "Hey!" he says. Luz is whistling on a blade of grass, smirking around it. "Stop it," Joe says, and he rolls over, digging his chin into the fleshy part of Luz's stomach.
"You stop," Luz says, shoving at his head, and then they're wrestling around again, Luz's body slick and strong underneath his. "Get off, Jonas!" Luz says, but Joe's grabbed his wrists, pinning him down with his body. Luz might be older, but Joe is taller. Their chests are pressed together, Luz's skin cool against Joe's from the water, and Joe rolls his hips against Luz's slowly, pressing his dick against Luz's as he starts to get hard.
Luz's eyes widen a little bit, and his mouth falls open, and Joe leans down to kiss him. They're alone in the clearing, no one else knows they're here. Luz's mouth is wet and open and he tastes like lake water, and as he kisses Joe back he starts to smile.
There are dandelions underneath them, smearing yellow against Luz's shoulders, and Joe starts to move down Luz's body, licking water off his chest, pulling his damp shorts down. Luz twists his fingers in Joe's wet hair, probably making it stick up like crazy, but Luz isn't laughing at Joe now, not as Joe takes him into his mouth and starts to suck.
"Joe," Luz murmurs, starting to pant for breath, his cock salty and hot on Joe's tongue. "God, Joe."
Joe likes the noises Luz makes, likes watching him come so undone, and it's like they're the last people left in the world, sun on his back and the air smelling of dirt and grass and the lake. Joe never wants to leave, wants to stay here with Luz, feeling Luz's hand on the back of his neck, never have to think about points and the Japanese and shipping out ever again. A fly lands on Luz's nose and Luz swats it off irritably and Joe grins up at him. Luz smiles back sheepishly and then Joe twists his tongue around him and Luz gasps, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, and it's good, it's good.
They end up napping in the sunshine afterwards, still damp from the lake, grass sticking to them. It's such a long nap that by the time Joe wakes up, his hair's completely dry and the sun's starting to sink towards the horizon, but Luz is still asleep and Joe doesn't really want to wake him. Instead he starts picking dandelions, lying with his head on Luz's stomach, idly twisting them into a chain like a kid on the playground. He manages to make a whole crown of them before Luz stirs. He turns onto his stomach to drape the circle of dandelions over Luz's head. The way Luz is lying, the crown sags onto his forehead, lopsided, like a very debauched king.
Without even blinking his eyes open, Luz says groggily, "What're you doing to me?"
"Making you pretty," Joe says.
Luz pulls the dandelions off his head, opening his eyes to look at them dubiously. "What are you, an eight-year-old girl?"
"Shut up," Joe says, taking the chain back from him and putting it on Luz's head again, more evenly this time, so it falls just right around his hair.
Luz makes a face at him, but he leaves it there, looking all long-suffering. Joe laughs. "You look great," he says.
Luz shakes his head. "See if I ever come see you in New Jersey," he says.
Joe wrinkles up his nose at him. "You better," he says. "Or I'll come hunt you down. Rhode Island's, like, right there. You can't escape, George."
The way Luz is looking at him, well. It's nice. "Fuck," Luz says. "And here I thought once we went home I'd finally get rid of you."
"You wish," Joe says, shoving at him. Luz's dandelion crown goes crooked, and he's just grinning at Joe, grinning and grinning.
They're going to go home. Fuck the Pacific, they're going to go home eventually, and they can live wherever they want, make whatever lives they want for themselves, and they haven't talked about it before, but somewhere out there the future's stretching out ahead of him, good things ahead. They'll get there eventually, Pacific or not. They will.
Luz adjusts his crown, straightening it on his head, and he wears it until they get back in the jeep, wears it until the wind from the drive threatens to throw it off. And even then he doesn't throw it away, just puts it in his pocket. Joe stores it all up deep inside.
**
"Okay," Joe says. "Okay. Who bets me I can spin around ten times with my head on this bat, then run all the bases?"
There's a series of catcalls from Lieb and Web and Bull, half the people standing around waiting for this softball game to start. They clearly have no idea the things Joe is capable of, even after all this time in the same company. Nick's standing in the back rolling his eyes like a big lame buzzkill too.
"No way, Jonas," Luz says, laughing. "You'll fall on your ass before you even get to first."
Joe knocks the bat against his boot a couple of times, squinting in the sunshine and shaking his head at Luz. So short-sighted. "I didn't say I couldn't fall," he says. "I just said I could run all the bases. I jumped a latrine trench, didn't I? I ran the line barefoot at Bastogne." Seriously, is he not enough of a legend here? What's with all the skepticism?
"Uh, yeah, and you got shrapnel in your foot and almost got frostbite," Luz says. Oh, whatever, with his "memory" and what-have-you.
"A minor inconvenience," Joe says, with all the dignity he can muster. "Are you betting me or what?"
Luz laughs, shaking his head, but affectionately. "Yeah, I'll take that bet," he says. "You're going to end up puking your guts out."
"We'll see," Joe says, because they'll just see, won't they, and he takes the wooden bat and puts it out in front of him, lowering his head so his forehead's pressed to it. Then he realizes something and looks up again. "Wait, who's the arbiter?" he says. "Nicky! You're in charge of the bet, okay?"
Nick looks bored, keeps glancing off to the side like he's expecting someone to show up. Well, that's okay. Whatever. Joe's over that whole thing. "Fine," Nick says. Well, he's used to being bet arbiter, at least -- Joe needs one of those kind of a lot.
"Okay, count it off," Joe says, and he puts his head down and starts spinning. Nick counts every time he makes a complete circle, in this stupid bored voice, but at least he's paying attention. At eight, Joe gets shaky and almost falls over, but he pulls it together and actually manages to spin ten times.
Luz is pissing himself laughing, and most of the guys look pretty amused, and it must be because the ground is really lurching around here and Joe's not quite sure which way is up, but whatever. Also it's kind of weird because Joe's not really sure which one of the bases is first anymore. Okay, this is hilarious, Joe's cracking up. He takes a step in one direction, and the ground lurches under him again and he has to stop to try to get his balance.
"Joe," Nick says. He's pointing towards the totally wrong base, towards third. "First is that way, Joe. Right, Joe! No, your other right!" Nick's so sanctimonious sometimes, but okay, fine, he'll go the way Nick's pointing.
He totally makes it like five whole steps before he goes sprawling in the dirt, too. The guys are losing it, and wow, it's crazy how dizzy Joe is. But he is more than capable of making it all the way around, whatever.
"Boo," Liebgott calls as Joe staggers to his feet.
"Told you so, Jonas," Luz yells.
"Whatever, I didn't say I couldn't fall," Joe yells back, and tries to sort of throw his body in the direction of first base. He's pretty sure he makes it even farther before he falls this time, and this time when he picks himself up again it's just getting to be difficult because he's laughing so hard.
He's totally coated in dirt by the time he makes it all the way around to the home stretch, and he feels like he's going to puke, and the ground is still not steady, which you'd think it would be after how long this has taken. The guys are whooping it up, cheering as he lurches towards home. You'd think he'd just scored the winning run from the way they're yelling when he flops down right onto the bag, moaning.
He rolls onto his back. "I am going to barf all over the place," he groans, clutching at his stomach.
"Yeah, serves you right," Luz says, but he's laughing. He throws the money they bet down onto Joe's face, and Joe almost just leaves it there because seriously, he's going to throw up.
"Told you I could do it," he says weakly, and then Luz jumps on him, landing right on his stomach.
"Oh, fuck you," Joe says, really feeling like he's going to lose his lunch here, but Luz doesn't seem to care.
"All right, all right, are we going to play or what?" Liebgott says, toeing at the two of them with his mitt on his hand.
"Don't kick me, I'm a hero for our time," Joe says, but he does manage to roll out of the way.
They're in the middle of the third inning when Nixon and Winters come walking up and Speirs calls them all in, telling them to circle up. Joe's gotten himself together enough to play the outfield by that time, so even though he's still dusty, he makes it over to the circle without falling on the way there, which is pretty good.
Joe manages to get himself in between Nick and Luz in the circle, throwing his arm around Nick's shoulders, Luz leaning into his other side, ready to hear whatever the officers have to say. Probably something dumb about checkpoints or training or something. Behind Winters, Nixon takes off his sunglasses and Joe sees him wink at Nick. But whatever, Joe can't worry about that anymore. At least Nick seems happy now, at least he's not moping around every five minutes. So whatever.
Luz is kicking at Joe's ankle idly, just little nudges of his foot. "All right, listen up," Winters says, and Joe always remembers just this, how he was standing when the war ended, between Nick and Luz, sun shining in their eyes.
**
END
Title: Sad Songs to Keep Me Awake (6/6)
Fandom: Band of Jonas Brothers
Pairings: Joe Jonas/George Luz, Nick Jonas/Lewis Nixon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9840 words (out of 49,320 total)
Disclaimer: Hopefully it is obvious that this is entirely fictional.
Summary: The Jonas Brothers defeat Hitler.
WARNINGS: Underage (16 years old). Older dude/younger dude. (Also, for the whole fic, incest, though not in this part.)
Author's Note: Big thanks to miss_bennie and irishmizzy, without whom none of this would exist. For previous installments, see: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five or use the tag. And with this, our story is complete! It's only been a year and a half.
**
It never fails, whenever Nix wants to be left alone to drink in peace, he's got an entire goddamn regiment knocking down his door. Almost before Jonas is even gone, Dick's already shown up, calling, "Nix?" down the hallway, sounding worried and uncertain.
Nix closes his eyes for a second, gathering up his strength. "In here," he finally calls back.
Dick appears in the living room door a minute later, his helmet in his hand. He stands in the doorway for a long moment, watching Nix. "You all right?" he says finally.
Nix snorts. "Want a drink?" he asks, offering Winters the bottle of whiskey he's holding.
Dick shrugs and puts his helmet down on an end table, coming over to sit next to Nix on the couch. He runs a hand through his hair, settling back against the cushions like he's tired. Nix hears his knees creak a little.
"Was that Jonas just leaving?" Winters says after a second, his voice very, very neutral.
"Yep," Nix says, taking another swig from the bottle. He is not nearly drunk enough to cope with this day.
"He looked upset," Winters says, that same lack of expression, that same careful, almost gentle tone. "Everything okay?"
For God's sake. Nix presses the heel of one hand against his eye, trying to beat the headache back. He presses until he can see patterns on the inside of his eyelid, white streaks of light. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he says.
For a long moment Dick doesn't say anything, and Nix has his eyes closed, so he can't even see what he's doing. Finally Dick sighs. "Long day," he says, and he takes the whiskey bottle out of Nix's hand. When Nix looks up he's taking a long drink from it. Nix watches Dick's adam's apple move, watches him swallow. He's very clean shaven again now that they're in Germany. Nix had sort of gotten used to how he looked in foxholes, a little grubbier.
When Dick's done with his swig, he hands the bottle back to Nix and Nix drinks too, putting his mouth where Dick's just was. Somewhere at home Kathy's probably getting primly sloshed on wine with someone from the country club. The glass of the bottle's cool under Nix's hands. "She doesn't just hate the dog," he says. "The dog hates her too. It used to always dig up her rose bushes."
Dick smiles a little, the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"The dog was goddamn smarter than I was," Nix mutters, and takes another drink. "I can't believe she's keeping it."
"Maybe you could get visitation," Dick says.
Is that... a joke? Nix stares at him. Dick smiles a little. He is joking. Weird. "Like in that Cary Grant movie."
Oh, right. "The Awful Truth," Nix says.
"Yeah," Dick says.
Nix closes his eyes and slumps back against the couch, letting his head rest against the cushion. He's so tired of everything, and he's pretty drunk, and maybe he'll just pass out. Maybe he could just stay passed out until all this is over with, never have to wake up and face his pathetic life. "The truth is awful sometimes, isn't it?" he says vaguely. "Sometimes it's just really goddamn awful."
Dick takes the bottle away from him again, his hand warm when it touches Nix's. "Sometimes," he says.
"Sorry I yelled at you earlier," Nix says.
Dick shifts a little. He's sitting so close Nix can feel the warmth of his body radiating out against his thigh, his side. Somehow just having Dick around, being so inhumanly calm all the time, makes Nix feel like all his ragged edges are being soothed, patted back and put into place, wrapped up and fixed. Like everything's going to be okay. "It's all right," Dick says. "You weren't really yelling at me."
"Still," Nix says.
He should apologize to Nick, too, later. He doesn't even really remember what he said, just remembers the look on Nick's face right before he left, that Nix must've been unkind. It's not the kid's fault that his wife's divorcing him, not Nick's fault that Nix is the worst husband on God's green earth. Not Nick's fault the Germans are killing Jews, either. Nix is an asshole, but it's okay. He'll apologize later, when he's sobered up.
**
After those awful couple of days, things get easier somehow. Dick makes sure he's taken care of, and they get away from that camp, and he remembers that he never cared that much about Kathy in the first place, so he can tamp his sense of failure down again and manage to cope. The only thing still making him feel really terrible is how Nick's avoiding him. Nix keeps trying to get him alone to say he's sorry, but every time he sees Nick, Nick's surrounded by his whole platoon, his brother, and if Nixon ever manages to catch his eye Nick looks away as fast as he can. Nixon hates to admit it, but he's starting to miss the kid, starting to feel antsy all the time. What the fuck asshole thing did he even say to him that night he was so wasted? Is Nick still mad Nix was married?
Stopped by the blocked roads on the way to Berchtesgaden, Nix can see Nick up ahead, running to put grenades on the blockade with one of his friends. He's laughing, tearing along with his legs flashing underneath him, like he doesn't even care that he's not speaking to Nix, like everything in his universe is fine. It makes Nix irritable. "Where the fuck are the engineers?" he says. Maybe there's a little too much edge to his voice because Winters blinks his eyes open from where his head is tipped back in the sunshine and looks at him for a long, measuring moment before he shrugs.
It's not until VE Day that Nix even manages to talk to Nick. Nix has sent the highlights of Goering's wine cellar back to the house where he's billeted, and is sticking around to supervise the companies as they come to pick up a truckload each. And when the representatives of Easy Company show up, they're Nick and Malarkey. Nix wonders for a second if Dick was the one who sent them, if Dick's trying to help him out, give Nix an opportunity to talk to Nick -- but Dick wouldn't do that. Dick's probably just relieved he doesn't have to worry about Nix messing with Nick anymore; it's not exactly like he'd be in a hurry to try to patch things up between them.
When Nick sees Nixon, he frowns like he wasn't expecting Nix to be there and sticks to Malarkey's side, skulking around the edges of the room like he thinks he can hide in the very small crowd. He stares at the bottles of liquor as though he's taking his decisions of which to take very seriously, like he knows anything about alcohol.
Nixon has gotten that twitchy, energized feeling in his body he always gets when he sees Nick, and God, he just wants to touch him, take him back to his place. Or if that's too much, at least wants to be able to talk to him, for things to be okay between them again, for Nix not to feel like such an asshole every time Nick looks at him.
Nix had saved a couple of the best bottles of scotch, keeping them with him just in case anything happened to the stuff he sent back to the house. He picks one up and takes a deep breath before he walks up to where Nick's standing. Malarkey's wandered away, so Nick's actually alone without apparently having noticed, and when Nix comes up behind his shoulder and says, "Hey," Nick starts a little bit. When he finally turns he has an odd, determined expression on his face, and he looks at Nix like he'd like to back away but is willing himself to hold his ground.
Nix holds the bottle of whiskey out to him, feeling awkward. Which is so idiotic. "You should try this one," Nix says, trying to act normal, confident, like he's just giving Nick a tip. "I think you'd like it." It's a really excellent whiskey, not that Nick will even be able to appreciate it. But that's how much Nix wants to make it up to him, that he's willing to give him the best bottle of whiskey he has.
Nick looks at the bottle for a long moment, then up at Nix. He looks like he doesn't quite know what to make of the peace offering. "Um, thanks," he says after a second. He takes the bottle out of Nix's hand, being careful not to accidentally touch him. Nix pretends he doesn't notice.
But Nick taking something from him -- that's a good sign, right? "So, uh, how've you been?" Nix asks him.
Nick's looking down at the label of the bottle, thumb fiddling at the corner where it's peeling a little. "Fine," he says. Color's coming up in his cheeks, ears turning pink. Well, that's more like it, anyway.
"Hey," Nix says, deciding to go for it and dropping his voice even more. "I, uh, could use some help taking more of this up to my quarters. You wanna do me a favor and give me a hand?"
It's pretty transparent, but that's the point, right? And he does have another crate of wine bottles that he wants to bring back with him, so it's not a total lie. After a second Nick nods once. He still has that strange expression on his face and he's not really looking Nix in the eye, but he's flushed, so. "Yeah, okay," Nick says.
"Good," Nix says, touching Nick's arm, but instead of leaning into him Nick's body goes a little more still and rigid, uncomfortable. His eyes flick up to Nix's face like he's a skittish animal and Nix smiles at him, trying to get him to relax. Maybe he needs to get some of that whiskey into Nick first thing when they get back to Nix's house.
Nick doesn't say very much as they drive back, but the jeep's so loud it's not too conducive to conversation anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, Nix keeps seeing Nick glance over at him, Nick's knuckles white on the bottle of scotch he's still holding.
It reads as nervous to Nix, like Nick's unsure of himself, and it's making Nix a little tense. But when Nix gets them inside the door of the house, saying, "Well, here it is, home sweet home," the second the door closes behind them, Nick grabs the front of Nix's uniform and pulls him down to kiss him.
Oh God, Nix is so relieved. They're okay after all -- he doesn't even have to apologize, because things are going to be fine, Nick's forgotten all about it. It was no big deal, just a stupid fight over nothing while Nix was drunk. He kisses Nick back, sliding his hand around to the hot skin of the back of Nick's neck, into the curls there, and Nick's already starting to undo the buttons on Nix's shirt, fingers working away. He must have set the bottle down while Nix wasn't looking, and Nick's a good kisser these days -- he's good at a lot of things now, a fast learner. Today Nick's kissing more aggressively than usual, tongue sliding confidently into Nix's mouth, walking Nix back towards the couch. It's maybe the first time Nick's really taken control of things like this, like he's in charge of what they're doing, and it's strange, especially after the quiet blushing Nick from earlier. The quiet, blushing Nick from all this time, really.
For a second Nix wonders if Nick got all this confidence from fucking somebody else while he's been ignoring Nix, but oh God, he can't think about that. There's no way, anyway. Nick's not like that.
Nick pushes Nix down onto the couch, hard, and Nix laughs as he falls backwards. "Whoa there, champ," he says, landing off-balance, expecting Nick to laugh too, but Nick doesn't even crack a smile as he climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. Instead he's shoving Nix's shirt off his shoulders, baring his chest, kissing along his throat. After a second he starts using his teeth, hard enough that it's actually a little painful, that Nix has to try not to wince away. He's getting really hard anyway, though, Nick so eager, his hands everywhere, his mouth. He's probably leaving marks.
They wiggle out of their clothes, Nick quiet and intense the whole time, focused and all over Nix, pushing him back, pulling his undershirt over his head, working his pants down. When they're both naked Nick says, "Do you still have that Vaseline?" and, oh. Nix hadn't thought... but it's not like he's complaining.
"Uh, yeah," Nix says, and points toward the bathroom. Nick nods shortly and disappears, naked, into the other room, leaving Nix to catch his breath. He can't even believe this is happening after Nick avoiding him for so long. He's happy and bewildered all at once, slumping back onto the couch, trying to figure out why Nick forgave him so abruptly. The windows in the living room look out the back of the house -- basically over a cliff so all he can see are the mountains, hazy and green in the distance. Fucking Nazis and their views. The beauty of it feels strange after everything.
When Nick reappears he goes back to it with the same focus as before, climbing back on top of Nix, kissing him fiercely. Nix is focused on kissing him back, breathless, his hands in Nick's hair, on his back, so it takes him a few minutes to realize that Nick's used the Vaseline to slick up his fingers and has already slid one into himself. Whoa, what on earth?
"Nick," he says, pulling back and blinking at him, his hand over Nick's, where he's just felt him working himself open. He can't help thinking about Nick in Hagenau the first time they did this, how tentative and nervous he was, how he let Nix do everything, how he trusted him. Nix doesn't know what happened in the meantime. "Hey," he says. "Let me."
Nick shakes his head, still not really looking Nix in the eye. He's flushed dark, color high in his cheeks. "It's fine," he says. "I'm ready." He bats Nix's hand away and before Nix can stop him, he's slipped his finger out again and has grabbed Nix's cock, starting to shove himself down onto it.
Jesus, what's he doing? "Careful!" Nix says. But it's too late, Nick's already forced the tip inside, and it's obviously too much too fast -- he makes a little choked, hurt noise and stops when he's not even very far down, gasping, and when Nix looks at him his eyes are watering.
"Hey," Nix says as soothingly as he can with Nick all hot and tight on his cock, trying hard to hold himself still. God, why is Nick trying to go so fast, like he's trying to pretend he's an old hand at this, like he knows everything? What's the goddamn hurry? Nix reaches out and pushes Nick's hair back from his forehead, stroking his thumb along Nick's skin. "Hey, shh, kiddo, you okay?"
"I'm fine," Nick says, but his voice is all ragged and he's blinking, bright red, and after a second he drops his forehead to Nix's shoulder so Nix can't see his face, still breathing hard, holding himself very still. "God, I'm fine, just a second."
Nix turns his head to kiss Nick's hair, down behind his ear, brushing his mouth over the soft skin there. "'S okay," Nix murmurs. "Take your time."
"I'm fine," Nick says, his voice a little louder, almost angry, and then he starts squirming, working himself down onto Nix in little twisting movements. God, Nix is so hard, it's driving him crazy, Nick wiggling down onto him, but it's unnerving him how Nick isn't looking at him, how he's trying to go so fast like he's got something to prove. His breathing's harsh and uneven, and he's obviously trying to take more than he's ready for, little grunts that sound like pain every time he gets more of Nix's cock inside him. His erection's fading, his cock getting soft as he forces himself to take more and more of Nix's dick, as he hurts himself on it.
Nix puts his hands on Nick's hips and holds him tightly, trying to get him to stop, slow it down. "C'mon, chief," he says. Nick's skin is hot under his hands, and Nick keeps trying to move but Nix won't let him. "Nick. Slow down." He moves one hand to Nick's cock, wrapping around it, starting to stroke Nick firmly while he holds him still. As he jerks him off, Nix leans in and kisses the corner of Nick's mouth. Nick doesn't kiss him back, but he lets Nix kiss him for at least a few seconds before he pulls away. He's a little harder now, cock stiffening.
"C'mon," Nick says, jerking downward again, catching Nix by surprise so he doesn't manage to stop him. The friction of it feels so good, Nick so hot and slick on top of him, that Nix accidentally jerks up into him a little bit, sliding another inch in. Fuck. Nick winces, but keeps forcing himself down, and with those last two bursts of movement Nix is all the way inside, balls against Nick's ass, Nick tight around him.
He expects Nick to take a minute, to let himself adjust, but there's barely any time at all before Nick's pushing himself up again, starting to fuck himself on Nix's cock. He's shaking all over, his body hot and strained, and it's too much, why is Nick doing this?
"Nick, hold still," Nix says, trying to stop Nick again, his hands tightening on Nick's hips.
"Why?" Nick says. He sounds mad, frustrated, and he keeps trying to rock, trying to shift position.
"You're not even hard," Nix says. Nick's softened again since he started moving so quickly, even with Nix stroking him. God, what is he doing? "What's the point if you're not even hard?"
"God," Nick mutters. "Fine." But he holds still for a second, letting Nix adjust the angle of his cock inside him until finally Nick gasps again, a less pained sound this time.
That must be right. "Good boy," Nix says, and holds him there, letting his cock press against that place inside Nick, and Nick's stomach muscles are shaking. "That's it, take it easy," he says as he reaches for Nick's cock again, wrapping his hand around it firmly, starting to stroke him harder. Nick's straightened his back, sitting all carefully on Nix's cock, and now that Nix is hitting the right place, Nick hardens right up, firm under Nix's fingers. As Nix runs his hand up Nick's cock, he presses out a drop of precome that drips down the side, slicking him up as Nix jerks him off. That's better. "Isn't that better?" Nix says, voice muffled a little in Nick's hair. He kisses the side of his head.
"Whatever," Nick says, his voice shaky. "I guess." He has his hands on Nix's shoulders, and he's starting to wiggle a little bit, like the strain of holding still is getting to him. Finally he says, "Can I move now?"
Nix almost laughs. God, what a kid. "By all means," he says. He kisses Nick's neck and Nick starts to shift, pushing himself up slowly, then dropping down again, pressing back onto him. Nix matches Nick's rhythm with his hand, and as Nick fucks himself he seems to figure out that he's in control, that he can hit just the angle he wants, go just as fast and as deep as he feels like. Nix watches him find the right speed, watches him find the right place and fuck himself down on it over and over, a funny focused sex expression on his face as he concentrates on what he's feeling, as he learns how to do it, what he likes best. The flush has spread down his chest, pinking up the skin there.
God, it's good, the pressure of him around Nix's cock, the friction as he fucks himself, Nick's skin hot everywhere it's touching him, the look on Nick's face as he moves. "God, fuck, that's so good," Nix says, gasping a little bit as Nick twists on him. "Oh, right there, champ, doing so great, fuck, missed this."
Nick blinks at him when he says the last part, pausing for a split second, but Nix is all caught up in the feelings, touching Nick everywhere he can, feeling Nick's cock jerk in his hand every time Nick thrusts down onto his dick. And anyway, it's just a hitch before Nick goes back to moving, closing his eyes as he does. It's strange -- the last time they did this Nick couldn't stop looking at Nix, staring him in the eye, but this time he keeps his eyes closed, his head tipped back, like he's not concentrating on anything but his own body, on how it feels to keeping rocking back on Nix's cock. It's sexy as hell, the pale stretch of Nick's exposed throat, his flushed cheeks, his dick hard in between his legs, Nix's cock moving in and out of his body.
"God, yeah, just like that, good boy." Nix isn't even paying attention to what he's saying. He just wants Nick to know how good he looks, how crazy Nix has been going without this, how much he's missed it. "You're a fucking natural, God, missed you so much."
Nick's moving faster and faster, breathing harder, balls tightening under Nix's hand. "That's it, c'mon, come for me, chief," Nix says, and Nick grunts and does, hard, shooting up Nix's stomach, slowing down his movements on Nix's cock as he comes, moving in long, languid motions riding it out, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, and Nix takes over, holding Nick's back and shoving his hips up into him, stabbing into Nick as he tries to finish himself off. It only takes him a little bit before he's coming inside of Nick too, pressing his forehead against Nick's chest, and God, it feels amazing. He's all sweaty and sticky and Nick's the same, still holding himself up instead of slumping into Nix now that he's done. Nix is running his hands all over Nick's back, trying to pull Nick into him in the afterglow, but Nick doesn't really relax, keeps sitting upright, muscles tight.
Nix is still trying to catch his breath when Nick pulls away, getting to his feet on shaky legs, wincing as Nix slides out of him. When he turns around to look for -- well, probably something to clean himself up with -- his asshole is red and swollen and open, and God, he should've gone slower. Nix doesn't know what's gotten into him. It was really fucking sexy, but pretty disturbing at the same time, and Nix doesn't know what to make of it.
"You okay?" Nix says.
Nick's moving like he's a little sore, all ginger and tentative. He doesn't look at Nix as he starts to collect his clothes from all over the floor. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he says.
"No, just," Nix says. "Um, that was kind of intense."
Nick shrugs like he doesn't really think so, and disappears into the bathroom with his stuff. After a second Nix hears the water running.
God, Nix is sore all over and he wasn't even the one who got fucked. He grabs a Nazi blanket off one of the chairs and starts mopping himself up, his joints creaking like he's a lot older than he is. His dick's sore. Jesus.
He's just managed to get his boxers back on, hoping that Nick'll stick around to help him drink some more of this whiskey -- and maybe they could go for round 2, too, Nix wouldn't be opposed -- but when Nick comes out of the bathroom he's fully dressed in his uniform, not even rumpled. He's wearing his goddamn helmet, for Christ's sake. What's that about?
"Hey," Nix says uncertainly from where he's sprawled on the couch, feeling old and debauched and decidely unmilitary. "Don't you want to stick around? I've got quite a bit of booze, you might've noticed." There are bottles in crates everywhere.
Nick looks at him for a long moment, his face completely unreadable. Finally he says, "Why would I stick around?"
Nix... doesn't really know what to say to that. "Uh, I dunno," he says, off balance. "It'd be fun?"
The look Nick's giving him makes him feel very small somehow. Nix doesn't even know what he's done, why Nick's being so weird. "Maybe you should call your real friends if you want a drinking buddy," he says. "This is just sex, remember?"
Whoa, whoa, who said this was just sex? "Since when?" Nix says. He feels like he missed a very important memo somewhere along the lines here.
"Uh, since always," Nick says. "You made that really clear the other day."
Nix opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't know what to say. He thinks he's just sitting there gaping at Nick, his mouth open like a fish.
"What'd you think?" Nick says, his tone moving toward mocking. "That we were going to go home and have babies and live happily ever after? Get real."
Oh, God, that sounds horribly familiar. Nix said that to him, didn't he? God, he's such an asshole. "Nick," he starts to say, trying to think how to apologize, how to take it back. He didn't mean it. He says so many goddamn things he doesn't really mean.
But Nick looks very pale and sad now and before Nix can get anything out, Nick says in a lower, quiet voice, "See you around." And he's gone before Nix can do anything to stop him. The bottle of scotch Nix gave him is still sitting on the end table -- Nick didn't even bother to take it.
So Nix gets drunk alone. He doesn't know why he was expecting anything different.
**
It's strange with the war over, moving into Austria, everything warm and beautiful. He has the points to go home, unlike most of the enlisted. He could leave at any time. He watches Nick out of the corner of his eye, then sits around with Dick in the sunshine as Dick obsesses over the Pacific theater, Nix lighting up a cigarette and wondering if he should go with him. Nothing keeping him with the 101st, after all. Nothing in the least. He's screwed everything up, and at least Dick still likes him. He's pretty sure, anyway.
Nix desperately wants to apologize to Nick, since apparently he was an even bigger asshole than he thought he was, but Nick's avoiding him, and anyway, Nix would probably just fuck it up even worse if he tried. What would he even say? "It's not just sex, I actually kind of like you"? Not exactly the world's most romantic speech. Goddammit, "romantic." Why is he even thinking shit like that?
And it turns out being an occupying force is not the most entertaining thing in the world. Everyone's bored and antsy without much to do, wishing desperately they were home -- Dick has some athletic fields built for the jocks, and it helps a little. Nix sets up a nightly poker game for the officers. It's a good excuse to drink, and he's pretty buzzed one night as they finish up a game at his billet -- Speirs had to leave early to deal with one of his noncoms getting shot by some asshole in Dog Company, so that meant more alcohol for the rest of them. At least Harry's drunker than he is, stumbling into the door frame as he tries to leave. Nix has just shut the door behind the lot of them and gone to pour himself a final nightcap when someone knocks.
Harry probably forgot his hat or something. "Thought I just got rid of you," Nix says as he opens the door, but it's not Harry. It's Nick. He's got blood all over him, soaked dark into his uniform. What...? "Jonas," Nix says blankly.
"Can I come in?" Nick says, and pushes past Nix before Nix can even say anything.
Nix doesn't know what's going on here -- Nick hasn't spoken to him in he doesn't even know how long, and now he's hurt? "Are you okay?" Nix says, boggling. There's blood smeared on Nick's forehead and lots of it dark and drying on his shirt. What even happened? Is everyone getting shot tonight?
"Yeah, I'm fine," Nick says. "It's not my blood, it's Grant's. Mostly." As the door shuts behind them, Nick reaches up and tries to kiss Nix, his hand on the back of Nix's neck, pulling him down. His fingers are cold and shaky on Nix's skin.
"Whoa, whoa, hey," Nix says, pulling away. "What happened?"
Nick shakes his head dismissively and reaches out for Nix again. "I was just in the jeep with him. It's no big deal." He takes hold of the front of Nix's shirt and starts to pull him down, like he desperately needs Nix to kiss him. And it's not like Nix doesn't want to, just. Nick's shaking.
Nix grabs Nick's wrist to stop him, holding him still. "You're shaking," he says.
"God," Nick says, frowning and trying to pull his wrist out of Nix's grip. "I'm fine. What do you care, anyway? Do you want to fuck or not?"
Oh, for -- "Jesus," Nix says, finally losing his temper. He's drunk and frustrated and this strange, angry Nick makes him feel like shit. Nick didn't use to be like this -- Nix made him this way, like a goddamn asshole, and suddenly everything he's been wanting to say this whole time comes pouring out of him. "I care, okay? If you'd ever listen to me -- just, fuck, all right, I'm sorry. I should've told you I was married."
Nick's gone all still and hunched, like Nix is hitting him over and over instead of goddamn apologizing. "I don't care about that," he mutters at his shoes. Nix is still holding onto his wrist.
"Oh, the fuck you don't," Nix says.
Nick's head comes up and he glares like Nix has just accused him of eating babies or something. He actually shoves him, blood dried under his fingernails, but Nix holds tight to his wrist and Nick can't get any leverage. "Fuck you," Nick says, off-balance.
"For Christ's sake," Nix says, rocking back on his heels but staying upright without too much trouble. "I'm not accusing you of anything. You should care. I'm the asshole and I didn't mean all that shit I said, and I'm sorry."
Nick's breathing hard and glaring and he looks right on the edge of completely losing his shit. He can't seem to say anything.
"I didn't tell you because," Nix says, and then suddenly can't look at Nick anymore, has to look away, over his head. "Ugh, God. Because I didn't want to fuck this up. Ironically. And because most of the time I forgot I even had a wife."
There's a pause. When Nix finally brings himself to look at Nick again, Nick's not glaring anymore. He mostly just looks blank. "Oh," he says finally. There really is blood smeared all over him. "Mostly" Grant's, huh?
Goddamn kid, he's ridiculous. "Here, sit down," Nix says, pushing him towards a chair. "You're a mess." He goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth, running it under the faucet.
When he comes out again, Nick isn't sitting down, but at least he hasn't taken off. Nix goes over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, pressing down gently until Nick sits. When Nix crouches in front of him and starts to rub the blood off his face, Nick wrinkles his nose up like he feels silly, but at least he doesn't move away. Nix focuses on being very gentle and very careful as he cleans him up.
"So the blood's mostly Grant's," he says after awhile, quiet. "Some of it's yours?"
Nick sighs. "No," he says. "We caught the guy who shot him. So. Um. Yeah."
Oh. Speirs was going to take care of it. Nix winces a little and doesn't say anything.
"Yeah," Nick says at his expression. "Exactly."
The blood on Nick's forehead has dried, so Nix has to rub kind of hard, watching it come off in flakes. He sighs. "That's a bad night," he says. These things keep happening, even though the war's over, and it feels so much more awful now than it did when they all expected to die at any time. "Is Grant dead?"
Nick shrugs. "No," he says, in a tone of voice like wonders will never cease. "I guess he's going to make it.
Well, how about that. Nix tilts Nick's face to make sure he got all the blood, his thumb along Nick's jawline. "That's good," he says. The blood's all cleaned off, Nick's face flushed from being scrubbed. His mouth looks very soft and full, and Nix can't quite help himself -- he runs his thumb along Nick's smooth skin, the lack of stubble on his cheek.
Nick clears his throat. He's looking at Nix's mouth. "If I try to kiss you now, are you going to be all annoying about it?" he asks, but he's suppressing a smile as he says it.
Nix feels like his whole chest is opening up, seeing Nick look at him like that. The corners of his mouth twitching, the smile in his eyes. "That depends," Nix says, trying not to smile himself. Nick's cheek is soft under his hand, and he keeps rubbing his thumb there slowly, gentle. "Do you forgive me?"
Nick shrugs, but he's still suppressing that smile, looking happy in the same room as Nix for the first time in, well, awhile. "Yeah, I guess," he says, and Nix kisses him before he can even get the last word all the way out, kisses him and kisses him. It's going to be okay, God, it's actually somehow going to be okay. Nick has his hand on the back of Nix's neck.
**
Austria's pretty great after that. No one's too picky about where anyone sleeps now that they're off the front line, now that half the time guys are out all night drinking and not going back to their quarters. So Nick can spend the night at Nixon's billet if he wants to -- Nix can wake up and find him there with his hair all sleep-rumpled, kiss him when he's drowsy and soft and agreeable. Nick brings him the little nice things his mom sends him in the mail, and Nix is teaching him how to mix drinks, and the other officers are politely not saying anything about how often Nick seems to be at Nix's place.
The house Nixon's commandeered has a balcony in the back, and one morning he and Nick are sitting out there first thing, enjoying the weather. Nix is groggy and hungover, and Nick is just in his shorts, sprawled in one of the chairs, his feet up on the balcony railing. He's telling Nix a story about some musician he loves that Nix has never even heard of.
"Are you listening to me?" Nick says at the end of a long monologue that Nix might have sleepily lost track of.
"Hmm? Yeah," Nix says, but maybe spoils the effect by yawning hugely.
Nick rolls his eyes at him, but he's smiling. "You want a drink?" he asks.
Nix grins at him, surprised. It's early. Nick usually gets on him if he tries to drink this early. "You gonna make me one, sport?"
"Yeah," Nick says. He looks a little pleased with himself. "Why, don't you trust me? My mom sent me some powdered orange juice."
"Oh yeah?" Nix says. Nick's hair is falling over his forehead just so, and he's getting tan, skin all brown from the sun so his dogtags stand out silver against his chest. Nix likes looking at him. "There's still some of Goering's champagne left."
"I know," Nick says, smirking, and he jumps up to go inside. Nix looks out at the mountains and feels like life is pretty good.
Nick brings the mimosas out a few minutes later, handing one to Nix in one of the fancy champagne flutes that came with the house. They're sure a long way away now from the days of making terrible coffee in their helmets -- it's strange how it's almost hard to even feel like the same people. Nick perches on the arm of Nix's chair, taking a sip from his own glass. He doesn't look like such a kid anymore, more filled out now, shoulders broad, confidently making drinks like this.
"Thanks," Nix says, and he puts his arm around Nick's hip as Nick leans into him, letting them settle comfortably together. The day's bright and clear, the hills and valleys of the mountains all spread out below them, the sun hot on Nix's bare arm.
After a few minutes in silence, Nick shifts a little, clearing his throat. "Um," he says. He's fiddling with the stem of his glass, twirling it between his fingers slowly. "So what do you think you're going to do when we get back to the States?"
Well, there's a question Nix has been trying not to think about, what they're going to do when this is all over. He sighs, trying not to tense up, trying not to think about how different things are going to be when they're not in Europe, when they're back in their real lives. He finally says, as casually as he can, "Well, a place in Nixon, New Jersey called Nixon Nitration is calling my name, I'm afraid." He's not really looking forward to it, but what else is he going to do?
Strangely, Nick doesn't seem put off by that answer at all. He takes a sip of mimosa, trying to be all casual, but behind the glass he's smiling a little. After he swallows he says, nonchalantly, "I'm from New Jersey."
Oh. Well. So he is. Nix had almost forgotten that, but that's... well, that's something. Nix tries not to smile and he leans his shoulder into Nick a little more heavily, feeling the warm weight of Nick there. "You don't say," he says.
"Yep," Nick says, looking down at him. After a second he reaches down and brushes Nix's hair back from his forehead, his fingers warm on Nix's scalp, the easy confidence of the touch.
It's such a goddamn mess when you think about it -- Nick's probably going back to high school, and there's no way Nix should keep this going. But... even so. Nick's body has lost all its tension, gone loose and happy, relaxed. They don't have to decide anything now. "Well," Nix says. "What a happy coincidence."
"Yeah," Nick says. By now Nick's smiling so big, Nix can't even have second thoughts, really. It's that goofy, wide smile Nick gets so rarely, showing his crooked teeth, making him look younger than normal. "A happy coincidence."
And finally Nix can't help himself, he tugs until Nick slides into his lap, pulling him until he's close enough that Nix can kiss him. Nick's warm and smiling against his mouth, leaning into Nix's touch, and he kisses him like he never wants to stop.
**
Dear Joe and Nick,
I miss you. Come home.
Love,
Frankie
**
Joe's walking down the street of Zell am See, wondering what's for lunch, when a jeep pulls up beside him. "Hey, good lookin'," Luz says, leaning across the front seat of the car, his arm along the seat. He's grinning behind his sunglasses. "Want to do some fraternizing with a soldier?"
Joe grins back at him. "Why, I do declare," he says, doing his best Southern belle imitation, which is not very good. That just makes it funnier though, so, win-win.
Luz laughs. "Hop in."
Joe throws himself into the passenger seat and Luz hits the gas hard, so Joe's jerked backwards, and then they're flying along back roads, the wind in their hair, Luz taking turns so tight it's like being on a rollercoaster. Joe holds onto the dashboard for dear life, but even so, he keeps sliding across the seat and into Luz, which makes Luz laugh and then bump his hip back into Joe's, and then Joe slides the other way as they take a different turn, whooping. The wind's roaring past their ears so loudly Joe can't even hear anything, can just tell Luz is laughing from his expression.
Luz picks a little dirt road that goes around the lake, through the forest, weaving in and out so that the lake keeps coming in and out of view through the trees, sunlight reflecting off the water then gone again, the cool and dim of the light filtering through leaves. Luz has to slow down now that the road's meandering more, and finally he pulls the jeep off onto an even worse dirt road, the jeep bumping like crazy on its crappy army suspension, Joe bouncing all over the front seat. The road eventually takes them down to a little secret cove, where grass runs right down to the muddy bank of the lake. It's beautiful, all green and blue and hidden, middle of nowhere, and when Luz kills the engine he looks at Joe, smiling a little nervously.
"You like it?" he says. "I found it the other day."
Joe doesn't even quite know what to say. It's gorgeous. "Wow, it's..." Joe says, trailing off. "No one else knows about it?"
Luz looks at him, something in his eyes. "It's just ours," he says.
Joe feels a little shy, the way Luz is looking at him. Shy and good. He jumps out of the jeep, running a hand through his hair and suddenly feeling that it's sticking straight up from driving. He tries to flatten it down, and when he glances back at Luz, Luz is trying not to laugh at him. "Nice hair," Luz says.
"Shut up," Joe says. Luz's hair is so short it's not really messed up at all, the lucky dog.
But whatever, he knows how to fix it. "Last one in the water's a rotten egg!" Joe yells, and starts running for the shore, pulling his clothes off as he goes and leaving them strewn behind him.
"Hey!" Luz yells back, slow off the starting gate, his feet pounding behind Joe, trying to catch up.
Joe's stripped down to his shorts by the time he hits the water -- getting his pants off while he was running was a little bit of a trick, but Joe's nothing if not resourceful -- so he doesn't even have to hesitate before he plunges in, running straight in through the mud and out into the water. It's cold, all alpine stream fed, but Joe's gotten so hot in the sunshine that he doesn't even mind, his skin all sun-warmed and tan. "George Luz is a rotten egg!" he yells, water cool against his chest.
"Oh, fuck you," George grumbles from behind him, but then Joe is diving under the surface, everything green and quiet and submerged. The water feels really good against the hot skin of his face, and it's just so silent, it's like the whole world has ceased existing.
When he comes up again, Luz is just wading into the water, back where it's shallow enough for his feet to still touch, the bottom hem of his shorts just starting to get wet. He looks cold. Joe rolls onto his back in the water, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes, and floats with his arms out, looking up at the deep blue of the sky. Every day seems like the perfect day in Austria, it's weird. The water buoys him up.
Luz is taking forever getting in. Joe tips his head back so he can see him upside down, and Luz is barely in up to his waist. "God, you're still wading?" Joe says. "You giant wimp."
"It's cold!" Luz says. He's got his arms wrapped around his chest.
"Yeah," Joe says, closing his eyes and letting the sun shine on his face. "It's totally Bastogne out here. I'm dying."
There's some splashing behind him, and Luz must've gotten in suddenly because before Joe can even open his eyes, his head's being shoved down into the water by Luz's familiar hands, water pouring up his nose. God, that hurts, fuck.
Joe starts thrashing around, and when he gets himself to the surface again, Luz is laughing. "Oh, you fucker," Joe says, and tackles Luz back, dunking him while Luz is still laughing too hard to defend himself.
They wrestle around, shoving each other under until they're weak from laughing and struggling, out of breath with water up their noses, and Luz finally lets go of Joe. "Truce, truce," he says, and leans back in the water, letting himself start to float on his back like Joe was doing earlier. Joe joins him, looking up at the sky through the treetops, listening to the quiet. There are birds singing all around, dragonflies buzzing as they swoop over the surface of the lake.
"You think the Pacific will be like this?" Luz asks after a second.
God, the Pacific. They're in drills every day and all anyone talks about are points, how many they have, how many they need. Joe's a replacement, so he's not even close to having 85. He feels a little bad about how relieved he felt when he found out Luz is short too. But not that bad.
The idea of going into battle again, though. Joe can't think about it. He straightens up, stops floating. "I dunno," he says. Just thinking about the war has killed the mood a little bit, thinking about how they're going to have to go somewhere else far away and kill some more people. Maybe get killed, maybe not make it back after all, even after this reprieve, even after the war in Europe ending. All this relief of tension for nothing. "I'm tired of swimming." He's tired in general, all his muscles feel worn out, and the sun's making him feel like he could use a nap. He swims back to shore, Luz following in his wake, the water lapping against their shoulders.
On shore, Joe drags himself over to a clearing, where the sun makes it way through the trees, and collapses in a patch of grass in the sunshine, still dripping wet. Luz sprawls out next to him on his back, hair plastered to his forehead, water beading up on his bare chest. Even the dirt underneath them is warm, and it's hard to remember the Ardennes anymore, how cold they were. It's hard to remember what being cold even feels like, like every inch of them has thawed out.
Joe moves to rest his head on Luz's bare stomach, sighing happily and closing his eyes. "I'm not your goddamn pillow," Luz says, but Joe pretends he's already gone to sleep, making an exaggerated snoring sound.
With his eyes closed he can just feel Luz moving around, can't see what he's doing, and then after a second there's an ear-splitting whistle. Joe's eyes fly open. "Hey!" he says. Luz is whistling on a blade of grass, smirking around it. "Stop it," Joe says, and he rolls over, digging his chin into the fleshy part of Luz's stomach.
"You stop," Luz says, shoving at his head, and then they're wrestling around again, Luz's body slick and strong underneath his. "Get off, Jonas!" Luz says, but Joe's grabbed his wrists, pinning him down with his body. Luz might be older, but Joe is taller. Their chests are pressed together, Luz's skin cool against Joe's from the water, and Joe rolls his hips against Luz's slowly, pressing his dick against Luz's as he starts to get hard.
Luz's eyes widen a little bit, and his mouth falls open, and Joe leans down to kiss him. They're alone in the clearing, no one else knows they're here. Luz's mouth is wet and open and he tastes like lake water, and as he kisses Joe back he starts to smile.
There are dandelions underneath them, smearing yellow against Luz's shoulders, and Joe starts to move down Luz's body, licking water off his chest, pulling his damp shorts down. Luz twists his fingers in Joe's wet hair, probably making it stick up like crazy, but Luz isn't laughing at Joe now, not as Joe takes him into his mouth and starts to suck.
"Joe," Luz murmurs, starting to pant for breath, his cock salty and hot on Joe's tongue. "God, Joe."
Joe likes the noises Luz makes, likes watching him come so undone, and it's like they're the last people left in the world, sun on his back and the air smelling of dirt and grass and the lake. Joe never wants to leave, wants to stay here with Luz, feeling Luz's hand on the back of his neck, never have to think about points and the Japanese and shipping out ever again. A fly lands on Luz's nose and Luz swats it off irritably and Joe grins up at him. Luz smiles back sheepishly and then Joe twists his tongue around him and Luz gasps, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, and it's good, it's good.
They end up napping in the sunshine afterwards, still damp from the lake, grass sticking to them. It's such a long nap that by the time Joe wakes up, his hair's completely dry and the sun's starting to sink towards the horizon, but Luz is still asleep and Joe doesn't really want to wake him. Instead he starts picking dandelions, lying with his head on Luz's stomach, idly twisting them into a chain like a kid on the playground. He manages to make a whole crown of them before Luz stirs. He turns onto his stomach to drape the circle of dandelions over Luz's head. The way Luz is lying, the crown sags onto his forehead, lopsided, like a very debauched king.
Without even blinking his eyes open, Luz says groggily, "What're you doing to me?"
"Making you pretty," Joe says.
Luz pulls the dandelions off his head, opening his eyes to look at them dubiously. "What are you, an eight-year-old girl?"
"Shut up," Joe says, taking the chain back from him and putting it on Luz's head again, more evenly this time, so it falls just right around his hair.
Luz makes a face at him, but he leaves it there, looking all long-suffering. Joe laughs. "You look great," he says.
Luz shakes his head. "See if I ever come see you in New Jersey," he says.
Joe wrinkles up his nose at him. "You better," he says. "Or I'll come hunt you down. Rhode Island's, like, right there. You can't escape, George."
The way Luz is looking at him, well. It's nice. "Fuck," Luz says. "And here I thought once we went home I'd finally get rid of you."
"You wish," Joe says, shoving at him. Luz's dandelion crown goes crooked, and he's just grinning at Joe, grinning and grinning.
They're going to go home. Fuck the Pacific, they're going to go home eventually, and they can live wherever they want, make whatever lives they want for themselves, and they haven't talked about it before, but somewhere out there the future's stretching out ahead of him, good things ahead. They'll get there eventually, Pacific or not. They will.
Luz adjusts his crown, straightening it on his head, and he wears it until they get back in the jeep, wears it until the wind from the drive threatens to throw it off. And even then he doesn't throw it away, just puts it in his pocket. Joe stores it all up deep inside.
**
"Okay," Joe says. "Okay. Who bets me I can spin around ten times with my head on this bat, then run all the bases?"
There's a series of catcalls from Lieb and Web and Bull, half the people standing around waiting for this softball game to start. They clearly have no idea the things Joe is capable of, even after all this time in the same company. Nick's standing in the back rolling his eyes like a big lame buzzkill too.
"No way, Jonas," Luz says, laughing. "You'll fall on your ass before you even get to first."
Joe knocks the bat against his boot a couple of times, squinting in the sunshine and shaking his head at Luz. So short-sighted. "I didn't say I couldn't fall," he says. "I just said I could run all the bases. I jumped a latrine trench, didn't I? I ran the line barefoot at Bastogne." Seriously, is he not enough of a legend here? What's with all the skepticism?
"Uh, yeah, and you got shrapnel in your foot and almost got frostbite," Luz says. Oh, whatever, with his "memory" and what-have-you.
"A minor inconvenience," Joe says, with all the dignity he can muster. "Are you betting me or what?"
Luz laughs, shaking his head, but affectionately. "Yeah, I'll take that bet," he says. "You're going to end up puking your guts out."
"We'll see," Joe says, because they'll just see, won't they, and he takes the wooden bat and puts it out in front of him, lowering his head so his forehead's pressed to it. Then he realizes something and looks up again. "Wait, who's the arbiter?" he says. "Nicky! You're in charge of the bet, okay?"
Nick looks bored, keeps glancing off to the side like he's expecting someone to show up. Well, that's okay. Whatever. Joe's over that whole thing. "Fine," Nick says. Well, he's used to being bet arbiter, at least -- Joe needs one of those kind of a lot.
"Okay, count it off," Joe says, and he puts his head down and starts spinning. Nick counts every time he makes a complete circle, in this stupid bored voice, but at least he's paying attention. At eight, Joe gets shaky and almost falls over, but he pulls it together and actually manages to spin ten times.
Luz is pissing himself laughing, and most of the guys look pretty amused, and it must be because the ground is really lurching around here and Joe's not quite sure which way is up, but whatever. Also it's kind of weird because Joe's not really sure which one of the bases is first anymore. Okay, this is hilarious, Joe's cracking up. He takes a step in one direction, and the ground lurches under him again and he has to stop to try to get his balance.
"Joe," Nick says. He's pointing towards the totally wrong base, towards third. "First is that way, Joe. Right, Joe! No, your other right!" Nick's so sanctimonious sometimes, but okay, fine, he'll go the way Nick's pointing.
He totally makes it like five whole steps before he goes sprawling in the dirt, too. The guys are losing it, and wow, it's crazy how dizzy Joe is. But he is more than capable of making it all the way around, whatever.
"Boo," Liebgott calls as Joe staggers to his feet.
"Told you so, Jonas," Luz yells.
"Whatever, I didn't say I couldn't fall," Joe yells back, and tries to sort of throw his body in the direction of first base. He's pretty sure he makes it even farther before he falls this time, and this time when he picks himself up again it's just getting to be difficult because he's laughing so hard.
He's totally coated in dirt by the time he makes it all the way around to the home stretch, and he feels like he's going to puke, and the ground is still not steady, which you'd think it would be after how long this has taken. The guys are whooping it up, cheering as he lurches towards home. You'd think he'd just scored the winning run from the way they're yelling when he flops down right onto the bag, moaning.
He rolls onto his back. "I am going to barf all over the place," he groans, clutching at his stomach.
"Yeah, serves you right," Luz says, but he's laughing. He throws the money they bet down onto Joe's face, and Joe almost just leaves it there because seriously, he's going to throw up.
"Told you I could do it," he says weakly, and then Luz jumps on him, landing right on his stomach.
"Oh, fuck you," Joe says, really feeling like he's going to lose his lunch here, but Luz doesn't seem to care.
"All right, all right, are we going to play or what?" Liebgott says, toeing at the two of them with his mitt on his hand.
"Don't kick me, I'm a hero for our time," Joe says, but he does manage to roll out of the way.
They're in the middle of the third inning when Nixon and Winters come walking up and Speirs calls them all in, telling them to circle up. Joe's gotten himself together enough to play the outfield by that time, so even though he's still dusty, he makes it over to the circle without falling on the way there, which is pretty good.
Joe manages to get himself in between Nick and Luz in the circle, throwing his arm around Nick's shoulders, Luz leaning into his other side, ready to hear whatever the officers have to say. Probably something dumb about checkpoints or training or something. Behind Winters, Nixon takes off his sunglasses and Joe sees him wink at Nick. But whatever, Joe can't worry about that anymore. At least Nick seems happy now, at least he's not moping around every five minutes. So whatever.
Luz is kicking at Joe's ankle idly, just little nudges of his foot. "All right, listen up," Winters says, and Joe always remembers just this, how he was standing when the war ended, between Nick and Luz, sun shining in their eyes.
**
END