fic: of prospects and pillow fights [hoosier/runner, the pacific]
Title: Of prospects and pillow fights
Pairing: Hoosier/Runner
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The contents of this story are entirely fictional and they don’t concern the real men from World War II, but the actors. I don’t own anything.
Warnings: Language, minor rape joke.
A/N: As always, thanks and credit goes to flwrpwr_vampyre for beta'ing and giving advice! Also, this is a little out of my comfort zone (being less depressing and more pwp and all that), so concrit would always be appreciated.
Summary: Caught between a bunch of idiot friends and some unresolved sexual tension, Runner and Hoosier should really get a private tent.
Of prospects and pillow fights
‘You wouldn’t mind, huh?’
The tension is almost tangible now and Hoosier’s staring straight back, a lurking grin caught on his lips. ‘You wouldn’t mind at all?’
The look in his eyes - that radiant, audacious look - makes Runner wonder. It makes him wonder if there had ever been anything before, anything that would have lead up to this. But there hadn’t. He starts to remember glances between them, and touches and dubious words, that all seem to have meaning now where they didn’t have before, but it’s just his brain messing with him. Nothing ever occurred to lead up to this situation. At least, nothing but the small exchange of words a few seconds ago.
---
Runner decided to call it a night and left Leckie and Chuckler with the guys from 3rd Battalion who they were playing cards with. Or, more accurate, they had been playing cards - now they were just getting wasted. He walked towards their tent, expecting to find only Hoosier, as Phillips was probably otherwise occupied with his friend from Mobile. When he pushed aside the canvas fly, he noticed he had been right.
‘Sweetie, I’m ho-ome!’ he greeted Hoosier, who was seated on his cot.
What he hadn’t expected, though, was to be all but thrown out again, as Hoosier looked up and replied with an angry: ‘For fuck’s sake, Runner, get out. Out!’
‘Jesus, relax.’ Runner put his hands up in a defensive pose, then lowered them again to take off his shoes. ‘If you want to sleep this early, go ahead. I won’t make a noise, promise.’
‘I wasn’t exactly going to sleep,’ Hoosier said in a low, aggravated voice. ‘I thought I’d relax in another kind of way now I had some quality time.’ He paused. ‘Get what I mean?’
At that, Runner slowly turned towards Hoosier, his face one big grin as he looked the man up and down. ‘If you want to spend “quality time” with your right hand, don’t mind me.’
He’d meant for it to sound mocking. He really had, but instead it came out as a challenge.
And that’s probably where things went wrong.
---
Runner tries to arrange his thoughts, tries not to think about the ‘what the fuck is happening?’ part of it all, but rather about the not entirely unpleasant knot in his stomach. About the fact that he’s standing on a border, with the choice to either take a step back and pretend nothing happened - nothing did happen, not yet - or to take a step forward and cross a line that really shouldn’t be crossed. Ever.
In the end he does neither of that, no, he leaps forward. Literally and figuratively, as he steps deliberately towards Hoosier and says: ‘I wouldn’t,’ pronouncing every word with care. ‘Would you mind me being here?’
And he expects Hoosier’s resilient self-confidence to crack, he hopes so, hopes that the man at least flinches. But he doesn’t. He just drags his tongue along his bottom lip - like he has done a million times before but now it’s different, it’s mesmerizing, now it makes Runner breathe a little faster and his thoughts go a little slower - and says: ‘Not in the slightest.’
He makes that last word sound filthy.
Runner wants to curse out loud but he doesn’t, because no way he trusts his voice at the moment and the slightest quiver would mean defeat. So he just thinks it. Fuck.
There isn’t a second they break eye contact, not when Hoosier kicks out his own boots and not when he stands up from his cot, moving slowly. Runner’s frozen on the spot, but he isn’t hesitant anymore about whether or not they should be doing this, because obviously they shouldn’t - and still, obviously they will. He’s only thinking: ‘Get on with it.’ This he does say out loud.
‘Whatever you want,’ Hoosier speaks and the grin finally breaks fully free on his lips. He keeps standing there, in the middle of the tent, looking at Runner, and starts unfastening his belt.
‘Really, whatever I want?’ he asks skeptical.
‘Naw, not really.’ Hoosier finishes unbuttoning his pants and slides his hand in, past all layers of fabric. Past the boundaries holding him back. Then his hand starts moving, leisurely, unhurried, like he’s got all the fucking time in the world and Runner swallows, hard. His gut is twisting and coiling, a heat spreading down, down, downwards and he can’t belief he’s so turned on by this - can’t keep his head from spinning like a shell flying through the air after a bullet is fired - and it’s Hoosier who triggered it (though Runner sure as hell goaded him on). The blast is deafening, his head spinning like that shell, that never falls to hit the ground -
Christ, he can’t believe his brain comes up with combat metaphors, while he’s probably supposed to be thinking less about the war than he did in months.
Meanwhile Hoosier just keeps standing there, keeps standing there while jerking himself off in front of Runner like it’s the most natural thing to do. But that’s maybe exactly the reason why he can’t take his mind of the war, because more than anything Hoosier is a soldier, more than anything he’s a menace.
He’s so fucking composed it makes Runner’s blood boil.
Two swift steps and his arm is hurling forward, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw. Hoosier stumbles away from him, surprised, shocked even. His hand is pulled out of his dungarees again and the grin swiped clean from his face. Runner feels actual satisfaction at that.
‘What the hell?’ Hoosier yells out, striding forward.
‘I’m sorry, Bill, I just -’ The next moment he’s lying flat against the ground, the back of his head hurting like fuck from smacking against the floor and a furious Hoosier on top of him. He sees the other man’s fist fly back, ready to land a blow, and he instinctively protects his face, his arms blocking the strike.
He tries to break free from under Hoosier, but the man is taller, stronger and simply a lot angrier than he is. They start to wrestle, in a pattern of pushing-struggling-choking-twisting, but it swiftly changes and Hoosier is grinding down on him and pulling at his hair in a way that’s no longer in order to win their brawl. Runner’s breathing is ragged now, too loud and too compliant, but he doesn’t give a shit. He starts to fumble at Hoosier’s clothes, pulling off his blouse and undershirt so he can splay out his hands on the other’s chest. Skin to skin if it wasn’t for the thin layer of filth and grime that’s keeping them apart - that’s keeping everything apart.
Until they sweat it off.
Hoosier’s mouthing at his shoulder, at his collarbone, he’s trailing his lips everywhere except for Runner’s mouth, but that’s fine. There are no protocols for this, no rules or strategies, so it’s probably better to play safe. Not push it too far. Hold a defensive position and let them come.
Fucking combat metaphors.
‘You’d mind finishing what I started?’ Hoosier mumbles in his ear, before running his tongue along Runner’s jaw line. And no, of course he doesn’t, so he slips his hand in and wraps it around the man’s erection, hesitant at first, but then he holds it in a firm grip.
‘Guess that answers it,’ Hoosier gasps as he starts rolling his hips. Runner picks in on the rhythm and moves his hand. It’s faster than before, slightly more desperate, and Hoosier isn’t at all composed anymore. He’s taking rapid, shallow breaths through parted lips, his eyes wide open. That last part still manages to annoy Runner - he wants those eyes to roll back, to flutter closed - but then Hoosier’s forehead comes to rest in the crook of his neck and a hand grasps him by the shoulder and he forgets about the eyes.
‘Christ, Runner!’ It comes out as a moan.
Hoosier claws at his shoulder until his fingernails almost cut through the skin and thrusts a few more times into Runner’s hand, spilling all over it, until he lets out a shaky breath and then slumps down on top of him.
‘We definitely are doing this again sometime,’ he murmurs against Runner’s neck, before rolling onto his back. Casually, he buttons up his pants and scrambles to his feet.
‘Hold it,’ Runner says hoarsely, grabbing Hoosier by the wrist and making him fall backwards into his lap. He grazes the shell of the man’s ear as he continues: ‘I’d say it’s my turn now.’
Hoosier sniggers. He turns his head, trying to catch sight of Runner, then gives up and leans back against his chest with a soft sigh. ‘Is it now?’ He reaches for Runner’s hip, gripping onto it and sliding his thumb past the waistband, drawing out a trembling breath. ‘Well, maybe if you ask nicely.’
‘Nicely?’ Runner raises an eyebrow. ‘We’re going to be nice now? So what d’you have in mind? I have to serenade you to get a freakin’ handjob?’
‘I said nicely, not sappy to a point where it makes me want to puke.’
He laughs at that. ‘Then what? You honestly are going to make me beg for it?’
‘Begging sure sounds nice, but even I’m not that cruel. Just try saying “please”.’
‘Okay, have it your way... Please, oh please jerk me off, Hoosier.’
‘Aw, that mockery in your voice makes me hot all over,’ the man chuckles, stroking his thumb in small circles. It’d be a lot easier if they were face to face, but the uncomfortable angle makes it more of a challenge. ‘I’m going to stick my hand down your pants now.’
Runner can’t keep himself from snorting and Hoosier tries to look back again, irritated. ‘Could you, you know, not laugh?’
‘Sorry.’ He’s still grinning. ‘But then don’t say stuff like “I’m gonna put my hands down your pants”.’
‘Well, how about this: if you don’t stop laughing, I’m not gonna put my hands down your pants.’
Runner almost rolls his eyes, but instead he says: ‘Oh, cut the chase, Hoos. It’s not like I don’t know you want to go on with this just as much as I do.’ He places a light kiss on the skin of the other’s neck, and adds derisively: ‘You can stop pretending.’
‘Yeah?’ It’s silent for a while and then, for the second time, Hoosier tries to get up.
‘Oh no, you stay.’ Runner hauls him right back - adding to the pattern of push-and-pull, give-and-take they’re creating - but this time he uses to much force and Hoosier’s head hits his chin hard, causing one of his teeth to cut through his lip. ‘Jesus fuck, I’m bleeding, you bastard!’ He hooks his legs around the other’s waist and takes him into a chokehold.
‘How’s that my fault?’ Hoosier sputters, thrashing around to break free. They’re pretty much wrestling again, but this time the tables are turned. ‘I only got up ‘cause I thought we should move it to someplace more comfortable, you fucking idiot.’
‘How the hell should I’ve known? It’s your fault for being a - fuck! You bit me?’
With his teeth cutting down into Runner’s upper arm, Hoosier tries to say something that’s probably supposed to sound like ‘you left me no choice’.
‘That’s playing dirty.’ Runner tries to twist his head in such an angle that he can knock the other with it, as all his limbs are already occupied. At that exact point it strikes him how ridiculous the entire situation is and he lets out a huffed laugh.
Sadly, that’s when Phillips walks in. The three of them freeze. Runner slowly loosens his grip around Hoosier’s throat and the next moment the man’s teeth are withdrawing from his arm, leaving a crescent shaped mark behind.
‘Are you guys… fighting?’ Sid asks, not moving away from the tent opening, as if he’s ready to dash off any second. Talk about awkward.
Runner stares at him for a moment, until he realizes that the boy gave them a perfect excuse. ‘Yeah…’ He pulls at Hoosier’s hair half-heartedly. ‘Totally.’
‘… Ouch,’ Hoosier says dryly, his timing way off.
‘Right.’ Sid goes for his cot with careful steps, not averting his eyes from them until he reached it, a peculiar look on his face. ‘Anyway, knock it off, I’m going to sleep.’ He turns his back towards them and starts to strip out of his dungarees.
Runner doesn’t move immediately, reluctant to let go of Hoosier - who isn’t exactly trying to break free either. With a soft grumble he closes his eyes. The night had started of so promising and then that kid just had to walk in and ruin it.
‘What d’you say,’ he whispers close to Hoosier’s ear, ‘we kill him in his sleep?’
‘Fuck that,’ Hoosier mumbles back. ‘Let’s just rape him.’
Runner chuckles and finally removes his arms and legs. Slowly, Hoosier gets up, turning his head, and the shine in his eyes tells Runner that the other man is still just as heated up as he is. For a split second, Hoosier’s tongue flicks out through parted lips, daring, and Runner honestly considers choking Sid with a pillow. Or at least knocking him out. Or, more realistically, dragging Hoosier outside and fucking him up against a tree somewhere nobody would interrupt them.
Apparently his face shows some of his thoughts, ‘cause one corner of Hoosier’s mouth twists into a smile. He sits down on his cot, just as Sid turns around again, in his undies. Runner discovers he was holding his breath, his eyes still fixed on Hoosier. He gasps for air and looks away, concentrating on Sid.
‘So kid, you’ve been chatting up with that boyfriend of yours from back home?’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Phillips says tiredly and throws his pillow at Runner, who catches it before it hits him in the face. He hastily wipes the remains of Hoosier’s cum from his hand and with a big grin he throws the pillow back.
‘Yeah, yeah, sweet dreams.’
At those words and while rolling his eyes, Sid douses the light in the tent and crawls under his blanket with an exhausted grunt. ‘Thanks.’ Runner’s smile gets bigger when despite the darkness, he can see the kid nuzzling into his pillow.
They’re left with silence. He doesn’t get up from the floor, and Hoosier sits motionless on his cot. After a couple of minutes, Runner pushes himself up on his elbows and his shoulder touches the other’s knee, the clothes that separate them not being enough to stop a chill from going down his spine. That right there tells him how utterly fucked he is.
A little nervous, he fumbles for his cigarettes, finding that he has only one left. He lights it up and slowly takes a draw, the blood from the cut in his lip seeping into the filter. Hoosier plucks the smoke from between his lips instantly and he knows he expected it, had waited for it. The graze of fingertips against his mouth makes a second chill surge through his body and again he curses Phillips for interrupting them.
They pass the cigarette between them for a while, both watching Sid fall asleep - but able to avoid having to look at each other - and waiting for the moment the kid’s breathing would slow down. Before that happens, though, familiar laughter sounds from outside.
Goddammit. They should just get a private tent already.
Then Sid rolls over, facing away from them and even if he’s still awake, it doesn’t matter. Hoosier has his hand at the back of Runner’s neck in an instant, yanking him upwards. They clash together in a kiss - or something that resembles a kiss at least - and the next moment Hoosier whispers hotly in his ear, barely audible: ‘We’ll finish this some other time, don’t worry.’
A dirty grin, lightened by the embers of the cigarette, and then the hand in his neck is gone and he all but smacks back onto the ground. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and all he can think is fuck, oh fuck and he wants to throw some smart line at Hoosier, ‘cause who says he worries about it or even wants to finish it? (Oh god, how he wants to finish it.)
But their time’s up; Leckie and Chuckler are stumbling inside and Runner shoots upright, making a leap for his own cot and trying to act casual. Not needed at all, it appears, ‘cause the two men are drunk as hell and way to busy with supporting each other and giggling in a way only drunk people do, to even notice him.
‘You guys had a nice evening?’ he asks, trying to control his breathing.
‘I think so, though it’s all kinda blurry,’ Chuckler answers with his huge grin.
‘Oh, come on, people,’ Sid moans from under his pillow. ‘I was so close to falling asleep. Please shut up.’
‘Sh-shut up?’ Leckie slurs. ‘I’m a writer; I have all the pretty words. I’ve the right to be heard!’ He trips over his own feat and lands onto a wooden crate. ‘… Hurt.’
‘Now you’re not-so-Lucky, are you?’ Chuckler says, laughing at his own stupid words, and meanwhile kicking over an empty bottle.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, shut the fuck up or get out!’ Sid starts to throw his pillow around again. Leckie and Chuckler join in.
Runner, on the other hand, lies quietly down, unconsciously outlining the bite mark on his arm with his fingertips, while watching Hoosier. And he’s sure that, in spite of the darkness and cigarette smoke between them, their gazes are connected. The other man’s eyes glow, reflecting the light of the burning tobacco during a last draw, and in them he reads a silent, enticing challenge.
Runner grins, closes his eyes and when he falls asleep his dreams reverberate with the most pleasant prospects.
Pairing: Hoosier/Runner
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The contents of this story are entirely fictional and they don’t concern the real men from World War II, but the actors. I don’t own anything.
Warnings: Language, minor rape joke.
A/N: As always, thanks and credit goes to flwrpwr_vampyre for beta'ing and giving advice! Also, this is a little out of my comfort zone (being less depressing and more pwp and all that), so concrit would always be appreciated.
Summary: Caught between a bunch of idiot friends and some unresolved sexual tension, Runner and Hoosier should really get a private tent.
Of prospects and pillow fights
‘You wouldn’t mind, huh?’
The tension is almost tangible now and Hoosier’s staring straight back, a lurking grin caught on his lips. ‘You wouldn’t mind at all?’
The look in his eyes - that radiant, audacious look - makes Runner wonder. It makes him wonder if there had ever been anything before, anything that would have lead up to this. But there hadn’t. He starts to remember glances between them, and touches and dubious words, that all seem to have meaning now where they didn’t have before, but it’s just his brain messing with him. Nothing ever occurred to lead up to this situation. At least, nothing but the small exchange of words a few seconds ago.
---
Runner decided to call it a night and left Leckie and Chuckler with the guys from 3rd Battalion who they were playing cards with. Or, more accurate, they had been playing cards - now they were just getting wasted. He walked towards their tent, expecting to find only Hoosier, as Phillips was probably otherwise occupied with his friend from Mobile. When he pushed aside the canvas fly, he noticed he had been right.
‘Sweetie, I’m ho-ome!’ he greeted Hoosier, who was seated on his cot.
What he hadn’t expected, though, was to be all but thrown out again, as Hoosier looked up and replied with an angry: ‘For fuck’s sake, Runner, get out. Out!’
‘Jesus, relax.’ Runner put his hands up in a defensive pose, then lowered them again to take off his shoes. ‘If you want to sleep this early, go ahead. I won’t make a noise, promise.’
‘I wasn’t exactly going to sleep,’ Hoosier said in a low, aggravated voice. ‘I thought I’d relax in another kind of way now I had some quality time.’ He paused. ‘Get what I mean?’
At that, Runner slowly turned towards Hoosier, his face one big grin as he looked the man up and down. ‘If you want to spend “quality time” with your right hand, don’t mind me.’
He’d meant for it to sound mocking. He really had, but instead it came out as a challenge.
And that’s probably where things went wrong.
---
Runner tries to arrange his thoughts, tries not to think about the ‘what the fuck is happening?’ part of it all, but rather about the not entirely unpleasant knot in his stomach. About the fact that he’s standing on a border, with the choice to either take a step back and pretend nothing happened - nothing did happen, not yet - or to take a step forward and cross a line that really shouldn’t be crossed. Ever.
In the end he does neither of that, no, he leaps forward. Literally and figuratively, as he steps deliberately towards Hoosier and says: ‘I wouldn’t,’ pronouncing every word with care. ‘Would you mind me being here?’
And he expects Hoosier’s resilient self-confidence to crack, he hopes so, hopes that the man at least flinches. But he doesn’t. He just drags his tongue along his bottom lip - like he has done a million times before but now it’s different, it’s mesmerizing, now it makes Runner breathe a little faster and his thoughts go a little slower - and says: ‘Not in the slightest.’
He makes that last word sound filthy.
Runner wants to curse out loud but he doesn’t, because no way he trusts his voice at the moment and the slightest quiver would mean defeat. So he just thinks it. Fuck.
There isn’t a second they break eye contact, not when Hoosier kicks out his own boots and not when he stands up from his cot, moving slowly. Runner’s frozen on the spot, but he isn’t hesitant anymore about whether or not they should be doing this, because obviously they shouldn’t - and still, obviously they will. He’s only thinking: ‘Get on with it.’ This he does say out loud.
‘Whatever you want,’ Hoosier speaks and the grin finally breaks fully free on his lips. He keeps standing there, in the middle of the tent, looking at Runner, and starts unfastening his belt.
‘Really, whatever I want?’ he asks skeptical.
‘Naw, not really.’ Hoosier finishes unbuttoning his pants and slides his hand in, past all layers of fabric. Past the boundaries holding him back. Then his hand starts moving, leisurely, unhurried, like he’s got all the fucking time in the world and Runner swallows, hard. His gut is twisting and coiling, a heat spreading down, down, downwards and he can’t belief he’s so turned on by this - can’t keep his head from spinning like a shell flying through the air after a bullet is fired - and it’s Hoosier who triggered it (though Runner sure as hell goaded him on). The blast is deafening, his head spinning like that shell, that never falls to hit the ground -
Christ, he can’t believe his brain comes up with combat metaphors, while he’s probably supposed to be thinking less about the war than he did in months.
Meanwhile Hoosier just keeps standing there, keeps standing there while jerking himself off in front of Runner like it’s the most natural thing to do. But that’s maybe exactly the reason why he can’t take his mind of the war, because more than anything Hoosier is a soldier, more than anything he’s a menace.
He’s so fucking composed it makes Runner’s blood boil.
Two swift steps and his arm is hurling forward, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw. Hoosier stumbles away from him, surprised, shocked even. His hand is pulled out of his dungarees again and the grin swiped clean from his face. Runner feels actual satisfaction at that.
‘What the hell?’ Hoosier yells out, striding forward.
‘I’m sorry, Bill, I just -’ The next moment he’s lying flat against the ground, the back of his head hurting like fuck from smacking against the floor and a furious Hoosier on top of him. He sees the other man’s fist fly back, ready to land a blow, and he instinctively protects his face, his arms blocking the strike.
He tries to break free from under Hoosier, but the man is taller, stronger and simply a lot angrier than he is. They start to wrestle, in a pattern of pushing-struggling-choking-twisting, but it swiftly changes and Hoosier is grinding down on him and pulling at his hair in a way that’s no longer in order to win their brawl. Runner’s breathing is ragged now, too loud and too compliant, but he doesn’t give a shit. He starts to fumble at Hoosier’s clothes, pulling off his blouse and undershirt so he can splay out his hands on the other’s chest. Skin to skin if it wasn’t for the thin layer of filth and grime that’s keeping them apart - that’s keeping everything apart.
Until they sweat it off.
Hoosier’s mouthing at his shoulder, at his collarbone, he’s trailing his lips everywhere except for Runner’s mouth, but that’s fine. There are no protocols for this, no rules or strategies, so it’s probably better to play safe. Not push it too far. Hold a defensive position and let them come.
Fucking combat metaphors.
‘You’d mind finishing what I started?’ Hoosier mumbles in his ear, before running his tongue along Runner’s jaw line. And no, of course he doesn’t, so he slips his hand in and wraps it around the man’s erection, hesitant at first, but then he holds it in a firm grip.
‘Guess that answers it,’ Hoosier gasps as he starts rolling his hips. Runner picks in on the rhythm and moves his hand. It’s faster than before, slightly more desperate, and Hoosier isn’t at all composed anymore. He’s taking rapid, shallow breaths through parted lips, his eyes wide open. That last part still manages to annoy Runner - he wants those eyes to roll back, to flutter closed - but then Hoosier’s forehead comes to rest in the crook of his neck and a hand grasps him by the shoulder and he forgets about the eyes.
‘Christ, Runner!’ It comes out as a moan.
Hoosier claws at his shoulder until his fingernails almost cut through the skin and thrusts a few more times into Runner’s hand, spilling all over it, until he lets out a shaky breath and then slumps down on top of him.
‘We definitely are doing this again sometime,’ he murmurs against Runner’s neck, before rolling onto his back. Casually, he buttons up his pants and scrambles to his feet.
‘Hold it,’ Runner says hoarsely, grabbing Hoosier by the wrist and making him fall backwards into his lap. He grazes the shell of the man’s ear as he continues: ‘I’d say it’s my turn now.’
Hoosier sniggers. He turns his head, trying to catch sight of Runner, then gives up and leans back against his chest with a soft sigh. ‘Is it now?’ He reaches for Runner’s hip, gripping onto it and sliding his thumb past the waistband, drawing out a trembling breath. ‘Well, maybe if you ask nicely.’
‘Nicely?’ Runner raises an eyebrow. ‘We’re going to be nice now? So what d’you have in mind? I have to serenade you to get a freakin’ handjob?’
‘I said nicely, not sappy to a point where it makes me want to puke.’
He laughs at that. ‘Then what? You honestly are going to make me beg for it?’
‘Begging sure sounds nice, but even I’m not that cruel. Just try saying “please”.’
‘Okay, have it your way... Please, oh please jerk me off, Hoosier.’
‘Aw, that mockery in your voice makes me hot all over,’ the man chuckles, stroking his thumb in small circles. It’d be a lot easier if they were face to face, but the uncomfortable angle makes it more of a challenge. ‘I’m going to stick my hand down your pants now.’
Runner can’t keep himself from snorting and Hoosier tries to look back again, irritated. ‘Could you, you know, not laugh?’
‘Sorry.’ He’s still grinning. ‘But then don’t say stuff like “I’m gonna put my hands down your pants”.’
‘Well, how about this: if you don’t stop laughing, I’m not gonna put my hands down your pants.’
Runner almost rolls his eyes, but instead he says: ‘Oh, cut the chase, Hoos. It’s not like I don’t know you want to go on with this just as much as I do.’ He places a light kiss on the skin of the other’s neck, and adds derisively: ‘You can stop pretending.’
‘Yeah?’ It’s silent for a while and then, for the second time, Hoosier tries to get up.
‘Oh no, you stay.’ Runner hauls him right back - adding to the pattern of push-and-pull, give-and-take they’re creating - but this time he uses to much force and Hoosier’s head hits his chin hard, causing one of his teeth to cut through his lip. ‘Jesus fuck, I’m bleeding, you bastard!’ He hooks his legs around the other’s waist and takes him into a chokehold.
‘How’s that my fault?’ Hoosier sputters, thrashing around to break free. They’re pretty much wrestling again, but this time the tables are turned. ‘I only got up ‘cause I thought we should move it to someplace more comfortable, you fucking idiot.’
‘How the hell should I’ve known? It’s your fault for being a - fuck! You bit me?’
With his teeth cutting down into Runner’s upper arm, Hoosier tries to say something that’s probably supposed to sound like ‘you left me no choice’.
‘That’s playing dirty.’ Runner tries to twist his head in such an angle that he can knock the other with it, as all his limbs are already occupied. At that exact point it strikes him how ridiculous the entire situation is and he lets out a huffed laugh.
Sadly, that’s when Phillips walks in. The three of them freeze. Runner slowly loosens his grip around Hoosier’s throat and the next moment the man’s teeth are withdrawing from his arm, leaving a crescent shaped mark behind.
‘Are you guys… fighting?’ Sid asks, not moving away from the tent opening, as if he’s ready to dash off any second. Talk about awkward.
Runner stares at him for a moment, until he realizes that the boy gave them a perfect excuse. ‘Yeah…’ He pulls at Hoosier’s hair half-heartedly. ‘Totally.’
‘… Ouch,’ Hoosier says dryly, his timing way off.
‘Right.’ Sid goes for his cot with careful steps, not averting his eyes from them until he reached it, a peculiar look on his face. ‘Anyway, knock it off, I’m going to sleep.’ He turns his back towards them and starts to strip out of his dungarees.
Runner doesn’t move immediately, reluctant to let go of Hoosier - who isn’t exactly trying to break free either. With a soft grumble he closes his eyes. The night had started of so promising and then that kid just had to walk in and ruin it.
‘What d’you say,’ he whispers close to Hoosier’s ear, ‘we kill him in his sleep?’
‘Fuck that,’ Hoosier mumbles back. ‘Let’s just rape him.’
Runner chuckles and finally removes his arms and legs. Slowly, Hoosier gets up, turning his head, and the shine in his eyes tells Runner that the other man is still just as heated up as he is. For a split second, Hoosier’s tongue flicks out through parted lips, daring, and Runner honestly considers choking Sid with a pillow. Or at least knocking him out. Or, more realistically, dragging Hoosier outside and fucking him up against a tree somewhere nobody would interrupt them.
Apparently his face shows some of his thoughts, ‘cause one corner of Hoosier’s mouth twists into a smile. He sits down on his cot, just as Sid turns around again, in his undies. Runner discovers he was holding his breath, his eyes still fixed on Hoosier. He gasps for air and looks away, concentrating on Sid.
‘So kid, you’ve been chatting up with that boyfriend of yours from back home?’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Phillips says tiredly and throws his pillow at Runner, who catches it before it hits him in the face. He hastily wipes the remains of Hoosier’s cum from his hand and with a big grin he throws the pillow back.
‘Yeah, yeah, sweet dreams.’
At those words and while rolling his eyes, Sid douses the light in the tent and crawls under his blanket with an exhausted grunt. ‘Thanks.’ Runner’s smile gets bigger when despite the darkness, he can see the kid nuzzling into his pillow.
They’re left with silence. He doesn’t get up from the floor, and Hoosier sits motionless on his cot. After a couple of minutes, Runner pushes himself up on his elbows and his shoulder touches the other’s knee, the clothes that separate them not being enough to stop a chill from going down his spine. That right there tells him how utterly fucked he is.
A little nervous, he fumbles for his cigarettes, finding that he has only one left. He lights it up and slowly takes a draw, the blood from the cut in his lip seeping into the filter. Hoosier plucks the smoke from between his lips instantly and he knows he expected it, had waited for it. The graze of fingertips against his mouth makes a second chill surge through his body and again he curses Phillips for interrupting them.
They pass the cigarette between them for a while, both watching Sid fall asleep - but able to avoid having to look at each other - and waiting for the moment the kid’s breathing would slow down. Before that happens, though, familiar laughter sounds from outside.
Goddammit. They should just get a private tent already.
Then Sid rolls over, facing away from them and even if he’s still awake, it doesn’t matter. Hoosier has his hand at the back of Runner’s neck in an instant, yanking him upwards. They clash together in a kiss - or something that resembles a kiss at least - and the next moment Hoosier whispers hotly in his ear, barely audible: ‘We’ll finish this some other time, don’t worry.’
A dirty grin, lightened by the embers of the cigarette, and then the hand in his neck is gone and he all but smacks back onto the ground. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and all he can think is fuck, oh fuck and he wants to throw some smart line at Hoosier, ‘cause who says he worries about it or even wants to finish it? (Oh god, how he wants to finish it.)
But their time’s up; Leckie and Chuckler are stumbling inside and Runner shoots upright, making a leap for his own cot and trying to act casual. Not needed at all, it appears, ‘cause the two men are drunk as hell and way to busy with supporting each other and giggling in a way only drunk people do, to even notice him.
‘You guys had a nice evening?’ he asks, trying to control his breathing.
‘I think so, though it’s all kinda blurry,’ Chuckler answers with his huge grin.
‘Oh, come on, people,’ Sid moans from under his pillow. ‘I was so close to falling asleep. Please shut up.’
‘Sh-shut up?’ Leckie slurs. ‘I’m a writer; I have all the pretty words. I’ve the right to be heard!’ He trips over his own feat and lands onto a wooden crate. ‘… Hurt.’
‘Now you’re not-so-Lucky, are you?’ Chuckler says, laughing at his own stupid words, and meanwhile kicking over an empty bottle.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, shut the fuck up or get out!’ Sid starts to throw his pillow around again. Leckie and Chuckler join in.
Runner, on the other hand, lies quietly down, unconsciously outlining the bite mark on his arm with his fingertips, while watching Hoosier. And he’s sure that, in spite of the darkness and cigarette smoke between them, their gazes are connected. The other man’s eyes glow, reflecting the light of the burning tobacco during a last draw, and in them he reads a silent, enticing challenge.
Runner grins, closes his eyes and when he falls asleep his dreams reverberate with the most pleasant prospects.