Fic: Here Before (1/1) Warriors
TITLE: Here Before
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: John/Neil
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: You're never in the same place twice.
DISCLAIMER: Warriors and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy birthday for my dear inlovewithnight
John sits on his cot and watches Neil as he shoots the shit with a handful of guys, all of them back-slapping and laughing and talking about girlfriends and lovers and others left behind with slight regret that will change into something deeper or nothing at all in the intervening months. John knows. He’s been here before.
Not here. Never Bosnia, but in this moment. He can almost pick who will cheat and who will lie and who won’t, though he never bothers anymore. He concentrates on the men, on their names, on their faces because some of them won’t be going back at all, and John never lets himself forget.
“Hey.” Neil chucks him under the chin like a big brother, bringing John’s eyes and mind back to the moment. “Come on. Jeep’s ready for us.”
**
Prolonged efforts always earn them a place in town, away from the men. They both have different reasons for liking it - Neil likes the privacy so he can screw off or screw around, and John likes the peace and quiet and the distance that he sometimes thinks he doesn’t have - but they both like it for the same reason the moment the door closes behind them and they’re alone for the first time since they shipped out.
Neil turns and shoves John hard against the door, body hard and taut and firm against John’s as he presses him into the wood, hands curved around John’s wrists as he lifts them over John’s head and pins them, his tongue invading John’s mouth as he thrusts his thigh hard between John’s legs.
John moans as Neil shifts closer, edging John’s legs further apart so he can fit between them, the slight difference in their height not mattering as Neil’s cock presses hard against John’s. John’s hands ball into fists above Neil’s rough grip and he pushes off the door, thrusting against Neil.
It falls to this moment every time and John bites back the groan of regret as Neil releases him. He can feel the memory of Neil’s fingers around his wrists, flaring with pain at every beat of his pulse as they both push off clothes - jackets puddle on the floor, t-shirts jerked off and tossed aside, belts and zippers and buttons undone, boots unlaced rough and hurried then kicked aside, pants and skivvies left in piles - and then Neil’s hands are back and the door is cold against John’s arse, but he doesn’t care because Neil’s cock is hot against his, burning and searing against his flesh at the slide of skin and the clink of dog tags.
His mind flashes to the first time this happened. Neil had been shot and they’d both been shot at and they’d fallen against one another to keep warm and John had been fumbling with his shirt, trying to rip off a strip for a fucking tourniquet and Neil had grabbed his hand and pressed it hard against his cock, rubbing John’s hand over the engorged flesh. Neil’s head had pounded against the building and he’d thrust up against John’s hand until he’d sagged with relief and exhaustion and John had finally put the tourniquet on with shaking hands.
Desperation still colors the edges as they move together, skin sliding and hips thrusting and mouths licking and sucking and biting. John closes his eyes and Neil releases John’s wrists. John moves his hands to Neil’s short hair and his neck, holding him closer as their bodies rock together and fall apart in endless repetition until Neil mutters low and soft and then stills, heat spilling between them.
John sags against the door as Neil pulls away, grabbing his clothes and boots and stealing off to his room, leaving John alone. John closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his prick, sticky and wet from Neil’s release, and jerks it hard and fast until his knees go weak and his head feels light and the hot rush of his own climax comes. He sinks down to the floor, knees spread, and hangs his head and waits for the war to begin.
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: John/Neil
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: You're never in the same place twice.
DISCLAIMER: Warriors and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy birthday for my dear inlovewithnight
John sits on his cot and watches Neil as he shoots the shit with a handful of guys, all of them back-slapping and laughing and talking about girlfriends and lovers and others left behind with slight regret that will change into something deeper or nothing at all in the intervening months. John knows. He’s been here before.
Not here. Never Bosnia, but in this moment. He can almost pick who will cheat and who will lie and who won’t, though he never bothers anymore. He concentrates on the men, on their names, on their faces because some of them won’t be going back at all, and John never lets himself forget.
“Hey.” Neil chucks him under the chin like a big brother, bringing John’s eyes and mind back to the moment. “Come on. Jeep’s ready for us.”
**
Prolonged efforts always earn them a place in town, away from the men. They both have different reasons for liking it - Neil likes the privacy so he can screw off or screw around, and John likes the peace and quiet and the distance that he sometimes thinks he doesn’t have - but they both like it for the same reason the moment the door closes behind them and they’re alone for the first time since they shipped out.
Neil turns and shoves John hard against the door, body hard and taut and firm against John’s as he presses him into the wood, hands curved around John’s wrists as he lifts them over John’s head and pins them, his tongue invading John’s mouth as he thrusts his thigh hard between John’s legs.
John moans as Neil shifts closer, edging John’s legs further apart so he can fit between them, the slight difference in their height not mattering as Neil’s cock presses hard against John’s. John’s hands ball into fists above Neil’s rough grip and he pushes off the door, thrusting against Neil.
It falls to this moment every time and John bites back the groan of regret as Neil releases him. He can feel the memory of Neil’s fingers around his wrists, flaring with pain at every beat of his pulse as they both push off clothes - jackets puddle on the floor, t-shirts jerked off and tossed aside, belts and zippers and buttons undone, boots unlaced rough and hurried then kicked aside, pants and skivvies left in piles - and then Neil’s hands are back and the door is cold against John’s arse, but he doesn’t care because Neil’s cock is hot against his, burning and searing against his flesh at the slide of skin and the clink of dog tags.
His mind flashes to the first time this happened. Neil had been shot and they’d both been shot at and they’d fallen against one another to keep warm and John had been fumbling with his shirt, trying to rip off a strip for a fucking tourniquet and Neil had grabbed his hand and pressed it hard against his cock, rubbing John’s hand over the engorged flesh. Neil’s head had pounded against the building and he’d thrust up against John’s hand until he’d sagged with relief and exhaustion and John had finally put the tourniquet on with shaking hands.
Desperation still colors the edges as they move together, skin sliding and hips thrusting and mouths licking and sucking and biting. John closes his eyes and Neil releases John’s wrists. John moves his hands to Neil’s short hair and his neck, holding him closer as their bodies rock together and fall apart in endless repetition until Neil mutters low and soft and then stills, heat spilling between them.
John sags against the door as Neil pulls away, grabbing his clothes and boots and stealing off to his room, leaving John alone. John closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his prick, sticky and wet from Neil’s release, and jerks it hard and fast until his knees go weak and his head feels light and the hot rush of his own climax comes. He sinks down to the floor, knees spread, and hangs his head and waits for the war to begin.