Title: A Paratrooper of Their Own
Rating: PG-13 (probably too high, but just in case)
Characters/Pairing: Implied Liebgott/Webster; Luz,Christenson, and original character
Word count: 667
Summary: Private Rogers had found men attractive before. Had coveted men before. But he had never been this besotted before, never wanted something-, someone with such intensity. And he wanted David K. Webster badly. Clearly, he wasn’t very subtle about it.
***
Implications of possessiveness. Crack!fic really I suppose.
A/N: Story based on the representations of the characters in the HBO series; not at all to reflect the real people. No offense intended. Also, this has not been beta'd so I apologise for any and all mistakes.
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A Paratrooper of Their Own
Private Rogers exhaled slowly, before giving in to his urge to glance across mess hall; then determinedly looking back down at his food.
He sighed, thinking warm thoughts, and dreamily imagining pale skin and dark hair, a lean, battle-hardened body hovering over him. He sighed again.
He had found men attractive before. Had coveted men before. But he had never been this besotted before, never wanted something-, someone with such intensity.
And he wanted David K. Webster badly.
Clearly, he wasn’t very subtle about it.
***
“Webster, huh?”
Rogers jumped slightly at the voice which spoke above him to his right. Sgt. George Luz stood behind him, leaning slightly on the back of his chair, eyes fixed on Webster with a small smirk.
“What?”
Luz glanced back down at him. “Webster. You know, Webster”. He exaggerated the name, and glanced meaningfully across the mess hall.
Rogers stared back down at his food. “Uh, well. You know, I mean-”
“No worries kid, it’s more common in the army than you think. More common than the senior chumps like to think anyway”.
Sgt. Pat Christenson stood to his other side, leaning with one arm on Luz; looking for all the world casual, but with the air of a combat-ready soldier.
“Oh, ok, uhm…yeah well, he’s-” Rogers paused, and looked over his shoulder again in suspicion, but neither soldier was looking at him.
“Oh he’s pretty alright. Those big blue eyes, and inky black hair,” (Christenson gave Luz an odd look behind Rogers back, inky black hair? he mouthed) “Walking around all lithe and shit”.
Rogers nodded slightly, eyes looking glazed.
“And such a soldier. Hmm. Wounded twice in battle. In Normandy and Holland. So, you know he’s all patriotic and fighting-fit”.
Rogers’s expression turned into something even more sappy and awe-inspired. Christenson bit down on the laughter he felt bubbling up, keeping his eyes on Luz and his ridiculous ode to David Webster; waiting for the inevitable shoot-down.
“And he speaks German, one of our translators you know. Just think of all those naughty little somethings he could whisper in your ear, and you would have no idea of what he saying to you. And of course, he is our ‘College Boy’; went to Harvard, he’s got the smarts, y’know”.
Rogers stared across at Webster; not noticing the huge smirks exchanged behind him, nearby soldiers listening in and shaking their heads in amusement.
After all this, Luz stood up straight and sighed. “It’s a pity then, that ya’ like him so much, kid”.
Rogers frowned, and turned to look up at him and Christenson.
“What do you mean?”
“A beautiful boy like Webster?” He shook his head in mock pity. “Yeah, he’s bound to have been landed by now”.
“Landed?”
Luz and Christenson shared a grin, and pointedly looked over to the doorway.
Rogers followed their gaze, where a lanky paratrooper stood watching them with dark eyes, cigarette hanging loosely between his smirking lips. Two jump stars and a Bronze Star glinted at him sunnily, and the ‘slouched but alert’ way he held himself pointed out that he had been in combat, and his body knew to be ready in an instant. He was a veteran.
Not a replacement, like him.
Pulling one last drag from the smoke, the paratrooper glanced over towards Webster, looking predatory, and flicked the cigarette away; turning and walking out.
“Landed…” Rogers muttered; visions of himself and Webster rolling around under the Austrian sun evaporating swiftly. “Who was that?”
Luz grinned. “That’s who landed him, kid”.
Christenson patted him on the shoulder, before both paratroopers wandered off; sounds of their laughter reaching his ears even after they had left the building.
He looked back towards Webster, who was still reading with a small frown of concentration. Rogers sighed and let his eyes trace jawline, nose, pouty lips, ruffled hair and long form; before purposefully turning away.
There were other pretty boys in the army; just none he wanted as much as David K. Webster.
END.