[fic] burned out bulbs on a ferris wheel; the pacific, chuckler/leckie/stella; r
burned out bulbs on a ferris wheel; r
the pacific, chuckler/leckie/stella; 1174
for-slybrunette, prompt-ways and means, beta-gigglemonster
War is like a prison, or so Hoosier has said on many occasions:
Bad food and no women.
So when Leckie finds himself taking up with Chuckler, he tells himself it is a means to an end, a way to keep from going crazy, to relieve the tension. He is, of course, well aware that he's got two perfectly good hands and that the frequency of their meetings might indicate that their situation is a whole lot more complicated. But this is war, after all, and there are far more pressing matters at hand.
Lew is what you might call handsy, and the conditions of their situation don't give them much of their own personal space as it is, so every time the bullets start flying, Leckie thanks god he's not a man prone to distraction. Otherwise, the press of bodies, the heat, the closeness, might just help him find his way to the wrong end of a bullet.
Chuckler teases. He'll stand too close when he doesn't need to, let his hands brush against parts they wouldn't with anyone else.
"You're gonna pay for that, Juergens," Leckie warns, a tight whisper.
"Oh," Lew raises his eyebrows. "I'm counting on it."
Later, in the dark, the slur of curses that filters through his mind and from his lips when Chuckler tugs him off is all that Leckie can say on the matter.
-
With Stella, things are different. She's all soft curves and hushed tones, eye contact and pillow talk. It is nothing like the rushed and rough shoving and thrusting that has become him and Chuckler. Stella is, in contrast, calming, and sweet, and perfect.
But at night, sleeping in the guest bed at the Karamanlis household, Leckie dreams of him -- Chuckler's lips, his voice in his ear, the feel of his hot mouth on Leckie's skin, the taste of him.
"Who are you thinking of?" Stella's sweet voice penetrates Leckie's near-sleep and his eyes flutter open. He blushes. "I think I can guess." Stella kisses his lips and then whispers, "You talk in your sleep."
Leckie can feel her fingers tracing a pattern over his hip where the sheet has pulled away, feels himself growing hard with the sensation.
"Tell me about him?" She asks, a tempting tone to her voice. "Will you?"
Leckie does.
-
Stella asks questions, makes him describe the things they do, the way they are together. She tells him she thinks it's beautiful, finding peace in all that war, finding comfort. Leckie tells her it's not more than it is, that it's nothing more than basic human need.
"No," she tells him, draws out the word with her skepticism. "I can't believe that."
"It's true," he tells her, and even Leckie is aware of the lie in his voice.
"You must let me meet him, Bob," she says. "That way I can decide for myself."
And it doesn't take her much more persuading than that.
-
It's Stella's idea for the three to meet together, take a walk, stop at a guest house for drinks and food. When they leave the house in the early afternoon, Stella tells Baba they might not be back for the night, and Leckie does not bother to correct her.
Chuckler is dressed up and Leckie realizes he doesn't think he's ever really seen him this way -- or maybe he has and he just can't remember. Stella tells him he's handsome and holds both of their hands as they walk beneath a gathering of trees.
"Lew," she says.
"You can call me Chuckler," he corrects, and Stella just laughs.
"Well, you should know," she says, "Bob has told me every single thing about you."
"You don't say?" He raises a brow.
"I do, indeed," she says, gives him a wink.
Leckie's sure that Chuckler realizes at that gesture that the cat's out of the bag, and it relieves him to see that in the moments following, Chuckler seems almost more at ease.
"You know, that just means it's only fair that I get a chance to tell you everything about Bob," Lew tells her.
At this, Stella laughs again, beautiful in her yellow dress and the setting sun. Then, she says seriously, "This, of course, must be remedied immediately."
-
There is far more drinking and talking than eating at the guest house, and Chuckler leans as close to Stella as he leans to Leckie, their three chairs all together on one side of the table, drawing attention. So it doesn't surprise Leckie when Stella suggests they get a room, or that -- once upstairs -- Chuckler doesn't question the fact that there's only one bed. Stella ruffles Chuckler's hair, plants a kiss on Leckie's cheek, and leaves them sitting together at the edge of the mattress, excusing herself to the washroom.
"She's something," Chuckler turns and whispers, his lips ghosting Leckie's ear.
A slight movement and they're facing each other, the scent of whiskey on both their lips, and Chuckler is the one who presses forward, his mouth swallowing Leckie's in one quick motion. There is a momentary rush, fingers pulling at buttons, Chuckler nibbling at Leckie's jawline, pulling at his collar, and Leckie's hand going to the crotch of Chuckler's pants, where he finds him hard. And then, as if she were always there, Stella is with them on the bed, and she is a kind of soft buffer between them, allowing them to slow down just enough. Her hand joins Leckie's, helps him to undo Chuckler's pants, her lips find Chuckler's, her tongue tasting Leckie on his lips. This feels, to Leckie, like a natural progression, like Stella is some missing piece to this fucked up puzzle, and it isn't long before her pace matches theirs of earlier.
The clumsy choreography, the awkward yet effective movements, the chaos, the split decision-making, is not unlike the battlefield, Leckie decides, and he grows harder at the thought of it. His teeth clamp down gently on Stella's bare shoulder and he can feel Chuckler reaching for him between the two of them. The moments after this drive themselves, the three of them together, a rhythm as easy as a favorite song, and it is not long before their voices are rising high above them, Stella's almost most of all. He can hear Chuckler calling out his name and at the sound of it, Leckie comes, harder than he remembers ever before.
Afterward, there's the strong scent of sex and sweat, a comical realization that somebody's still wearing a shoe, and a struggle to get them all covered beneath the white sheet. Chuckler lights a cigarette and passes it to Leckie.
"I want to be here forever," Stella says, her voice just above a whisper, betraying her knowledge that this dream will only ever be a dream.
Somewhere, someone turns out a light.
Leckie leans closer, kisses the corner of her eye. Chuckler's lips find her shoulder.
Me too, are the words unspoken by the both of them. Me too.
-fin.
the pacific, chuckler/leckie/stella; 1174
for-slybrunette, prompt-ways and means, beta-gigglemonster
War is like a prison, or so Hoosier has said on many occasions:
Bad food and no women.
So when Leckie finds himself taking up with Chuckler, he tells himself it is a means to an end, a way to keep from going crazy, to relieve the tension. He is, of course, well aware that he's got two perfectly good hands and that the frequency of their meetings might indicate that their situation is a whole lot more complicated. But this is war, after all, and there are far more pressing matters at hand.
Lew is what you might call handsy, and the conditions of their situation don't give them much of their own personal space as it is, so every time the bullets start flying, Leckie thanks god he's not a man prone to distraction. Otherwise, the press of bodies, the heat, the closeness, might just help him find his way to the wrong end of a bullet.
Chuckler teases. He'll stand too close when he doesn't need to, let his hands brush against parts they wouldn't with anyone else.
"You're gonna pay for that, Juergens," Leckie warns, a tight whisper.
"Oh," Lew raises his eyebrows. "I'm counting on it."
Later, in the dark, the slur of curses that filters through his mind and from his lips when Chuckler tugs him off is all that Leckie can say on the matter.
-
With Stella, things are different. She's all soft curves and hushed tones, eye contact and pillow talk. It is nothing like the rushed and rough shoving and thrusting that has become him and Chuckler. Stella is, in contrast, calming, and sweet, and perfect.
But at night, sleeping in the guest bed at the Karamanlis household, Leckie dreams of him -- Chuckler's lips, his voice in his ear, the feel of his hot mouth on Leckie's skin, the taste of him.
"Who are you thinking of?" Stella's sweet voice penetrates Leckie's near-sleep and his eyes flutter open. He blushes. "I think I can guess." Stella kisses his lips and then whispers, "You talk in your sleep."
Leckie can feel her fingers tracing a pattern over his hip where the sheet has pulled away, feels himself growing hard with the sensation.
"Tell me about him?" She asks, a tempting tone to her voice. "Will you?"
Leckie does.
-
Stella asks questions, makes him describe the things they do, the way they are together. She tells him she thinks it's beautiful, finding peace in all that war, finding comfort. Leckie tells her it's not more than it is, that it's nothing more than basic human need.
"No," she tells him, draws out the word with her skepticism. "I can't believe that."
"It's true," he tells her, and even Leckie is aware of the lie in his voice.
"You must let me meet him, Bob," she says. "That way I can decide for myself."
And it doesn't take her much more persuading than that.
-
It's Stella's idea for the three to meet together, take a walk, stop at a guest house for drinks and food. When they leave the house in the early afternoon, Stella tells Baba they might not be back for the night, and Leckie does not bother to correct her.
Chuckler is dressed up and Leckie realizes he doesn't think he's ever really seen him this way -- or maybe he has and he just can't remember. Stella tells him he's handsome and holds both of their hands as they walk beneath a gathering of trees.
"Lew," she says.
"You can call me Chuckler," he corrects, and Stella just laughs.
"Well, you should know," she says, "Bob has told me every single thing about you."
"You don't say?" He raises a brow.
"I do, indeed," she says, gives him a wink.
Leckie's sure that Chuckler realizes at that gesture that the cat's out of the bag, and it relieves him to see that in the moments following, Chuckler seems almost more at ease.
"You know, that just means it's only fair that I get a chance to tell you everything about Bob," Lew tells her.
At this, Stella laughs again, beautiful in her yellow dress and the setting sun. Then, she says seriously, "This, of course, must be remedied immediately."
-
There is far more drinking and talking than eating at the guest house, and Chuckler leans as close to Stella as he leans to Leckie, their three chairs all together on one side of the table, drawing attention. So it doesn't surprise Leckie when Stella suggests they get a room, or that -- once upstairs -- Chuckler doesn't question the fact that there's only one bed. Stella ruffles Chuckler's hair, plants a kiss on Leckie's cheek, and leaves them sitting together at the edge of the mattress, excusing herself to the washroom.
"She's something," Chuckler turns and whispers, his lips ghosting Leckie's ear.
A slight movement and they're facing each other, the scent of whiskey on both their lips, and Chuckler is the one who presses forward, his mouth swallowing Leckie's in one quick motion. There is a momentary rush, fingers pulling at buttons, Chuckler nibbling at Leckie's jawline, pulling at his collar, and Leckie's hand going to the crotch of Chuckler's pants, where he finds him hard. And then, as if she were always there, Stella is with them on the bed, and she is a kind of soft buffer between them, allowing them to slow down just enough. Her hand joins Leckie's, helps him to undo Chuckler's pants, her lips find Chuckler's, her tongue tasting Leckie on his lips. This feels, to Leckie, like a natural progression, like Stella is some missing piece to this fucked up puzzle, and it isn't long before her pace matches theirs of earlier.
The clumsy choreography, the awkward yet effective movements, the chaos, the split decision-making, is not unlike the battlefield, Leckie decides, and he grows harder at the thought of it. His teeth clamp down gently on Stella's bare shoulder and he can feel Chuckler reaching for him between the two of them. The moments after this drive themselves, the three of them together, a rhythm as easy as a favorite song, and it is not long before their voices are rising high above them, Stella's almost most of all. He can hear Chuckler calling out his name and at the sound of it, Leckie comes, harder than he remembers ever before.
Afterward, there's the strong scent of sex and sweat, a comical realization that somebody's still wearing a shoe, and a struggle to get them all covered beneath the white sheet. Chuckler lights a cigarette and passes it to Leckie.
"I want to be here forever," Stella says, her voice just above a whisper, betraying her knowledge that this dream will only ever be a dream.
Somewhere, someone turns out a light.
Leckie leans closer, kisses the corner of her eye. Chuckler's lips find her shoulder.
Me too, are the words unspoken by the both of them. Me too.
-fin.