Winters/Nixon Fic: "The Hours," NC-17
Winters/Nixon has totally eaten my brain. Oh, how I love them. This is hurt/comfort and first time, since that's how I roll. Thank you to mcfeste for the beta! Feedback would be lovely!
Title: The Hours
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Dick Winters/Lewis Nixon (aka Damian Lewis and Ron Livingston)
Summary: Dick gets a concussion. Lew takes care of him, and some feelings bubble to the surface. He wants his best friend in a way he can’t understand, but needs to learn.
Lew’s almost out, veins humming with the buzz of the bottle he guzzled - the only thing that will get him anywhere close to sleep these days - when he’s reaching for his weapon and creeping to the door before he’s really awake. Blinking, he gives his head a shake and listens. The war may be all but over, but it isn't done yet.
The stairs of the German house creak, and whoever is climbing them is not doing a good job of masking his approach. Pistol cocked and ready, Lew peeks out into the hallway to find Dick a few feet away at the top of the stairs. He wears an empty expression and wavers slightly on his feet.
Lew thought he’d reached the point where nothing in this goddamned war could affect him any more, but his heart hammers against his ribs. “What is it?” He’s only wearing his shorts, so he tosses his pistol back on his bed as he reaches out to Dick. He grasps Dick's shoulder as someone else bursts in downstairs.
Doc Roe takes the stairs two at a time and skids to a stop, almost crashing into Dick. He addresses Lew. “Sir, I’m sorry for barging in, but Major Winters needs to come on back to the hospital. I think he's got a concussion, and he needs to be watched.”
In a voice that’s more of a growl, Dick grounds out, “Dismissed, Roe.”
It’s so unlike him, and Lew smiles tentatively. “Hey, hey. I know your head’s harder than the side of a Sherman, but you should listen to Doc.”
There’s dried blood on Dick’s left ear, and he scratches at it. “I’m going to bed. I’m fine.”
Lew glances at Roe, who replies, “Some PFC was fooling around with a grenade. Far enough away, but the blast impact knocked him clear across the room. He needs to be woken up every hour to make sure he doesn’t slip into a coma.”
Dick scoffs, but Lew’s guts twist like a dishrag at the thought. “I’ll take care of it, Roe. Anything else I need to do? Or just wake him?”
“Ask him a few questions. The date, where he is. That kind of stuff.” Roe visibly relaxes. “Thank you for your help, sir. I just...”
“You were just doing your job, which Major Winters decided to make even more difficult for you than normal. Good work, Roe. Thank you.” He slings his arm around Dick’s shoulders as Roe disappears back down the stairs.
Muttering, Dick lets Lew guide him into the dark master bedroom at the end of the hall. Dick’s typewriter sits on a makeshift desk, and he knocks into it as he lurches toward the large, wood-carved bed. “Easy, easy,” Lew says. He gets Dick onto his back and goes to work on unlacing his boots. “You know they’ve got a few pretty nurses over at that field hospital. Nuns, I think, but I’m sure that under the circumstances, God won’t mind us looking.”
Dick doesn’t answer, just watches with those serious eyes as Lew sits beside him and goes to work on the buttons of his shirt. The moon is bright enough that Lew doesn’t need to switch on the lamp to see what he’s doing. His fingers graze skin as he peels off Dick’s shirt and trousers, and he’s glad Dick can’t see the ridiculous blush staining Lew’s cheeks as the desire to touch, to splay his hands flat and roam, ricochets through him.
Too long without a woman. He thinks of Kathy, and bitterness sours his stomach.
His expression must be troubled, because the strangest thing happens, and Dick’s palm touches Lew’s cheek. His flesh is warm, and Lew leans into it for a fleeting moment. Then he’s on his feet, because Dick doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Lew wants to do things he shouldn’t. “I’ll come back in an hour.”
There is surprising strength in Dick’s hand, which wraps around Lew’s wrist. “Stay.”
So he does, climbing into bed beside his friend and pulling the soft blankets over them. Dick is asleep within minutes, his breath fanning Lew’s shoulder. There are several inches between them, but Lew can feel the heat of Dick’s body. He reminds himself that while Major Richard D. Winters would never report him for breach of conduct should Lew ever forget himself, he’d never, ever look at him the same way again.
A fate far worse than any court martial.
*
Lew watches the second hand sweep by. Dick’s lips are slack and the lines in his face somehow seem smoothed away in sleep. When the first hour passes, Lew sits up and squeezes his shoulder. “Wake up.”
Usually Dick would spring awake instantly, ready to leap into battle no matter how long the brass puts him behind a desk. Instead he simply moans softly. Lew tightens his grip as his pulse zooms. “Dick. Come on.”
This time Dick’s eyelids flutter, and he blinks up. Lew exhales and paints on a crooked smile. “What day is it? And don’t say one ending in ‘y,’ because that’s cheating.”
It takes Dick a few moments to answer. He stares blankly. “Who are you?”
It’s not just fear that corkscrews through Lew, but a hurt that takes his breath away. He tries to smile, but it’s likely a grimace. “It’s me, Dick. Nixon.”
No response. No flicker of recognition.
“Come on, it’s been years now. You couldn’t have hit your head that hard. Dick, it’s me.” He struggles to breathe.
“Is that my name?”
“Oh, Jesus.” He vaults up, spinning in a circle as he looks for his uniform and boots before he realizes he’s not in his own room. “I’m going to get Doc. Everything’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.”
He’s at the door when Dick says, “I almost forgot, I found some VAT 69.”
Lew’s mind struggles to catch up, warring with the lingering panic before he sags with relief against the doorframe. “You…” He stops himself from leaping on the bed, crawling on instead so he doesn’t jostle Dick too much. “You son of a bitch.” He picks up a pillow and mimes hitting Dick with it. “You’re lucky you’re injured already.”
Dick’s lips curve into a smile. “I told Roe I’m fine.” His eyes droop already, though. “You don’t have to stay. Just need a good night’s sleep to get rid of this headache.”
“Yeah, well, doctor’s orders.” He settles back down, keeping as much distance between them as he can without being obvious. “See you in an hour.”
Dick’s already asleep, and Lew can breathe again.
*
The cool grey of dawn seeps in as he leans over to wake Dick. In the hours of the night - of which Lew’s watched every minute tick by - they’ve covered off where they are, Dick’s name, his current rank, names and ranks of world leaders, the date, how many German troops have surrendered to date, and Colonel Sink’s plans for further inroads into Germany. Lew shakes him slightly. “Dick.”
Dick only grunts in response, but opens his eyes. After a few moments he pushes himself up to sitting, and Lew arranges the pillows behind him. Dick sighs. He’s always been rather disgustingly energetic and easy to rise in the morning, which Lew credits to his lack of interest in alcohol and growing up on a farm. So Lew knows Dick’s hurting given the fact that he hasn’t bounded out of bed and half-jokingly admonished him for lazing about.
He looks so comically miserable that Lew reaches over and gently draws his head near, pressing a kiss to the pale skin of Dick’s forehead. It’s what Lew’s mother would do - what she did countless times whenever he was ill as a child.
He cradles Dick’s face in his hand. Their eyes meet, and before he knows what he’s doing, Lew’s leaning in, Dick’s lips dry beneath his. A voice screams in his mind to stop, but if he’s honest with himself - and he rarely is - God he’s wanted this for so long.
He wants his best friend in a way he can’t understand, but needs to learn.
Dick is a statue beneath his touch, and Lew regains control and pulls back, his hand falling away. Dick doesn’t shout, but of course he wouldn’t. Lew searches his face, not sure what he expects to see. What he hopes to see. What he’s terrified to see.
A small furrow appears between Dick’s eyebrows.
Footsteps thunder up the stairs and Dick’s orderly calls out. “Major! Colonel Sink requests your presence for briefing at zero-six-hundred hours.”
Not moving, Dick’s gaze is still zeroed in on Lew’s face.
The footsteps near. “Major?” The orderly is at the door.
“Answer!” Lew hisses.
This seems to jolt Dick back to the here and now. “Yes,” he croaks. He clears his throat. “Reporting to Colonel Sink.” With that, he’s up and out of bed, all business, headache or no. He splashes water into the washstand and bends over it, rinsing his face.
Lew listens for the closing of the front door, and retreats.
*
The sun is sinking, and Lew wishes he could sleep. He should be able to, since he was up all night. He should have slept the day away now that they're off the line, surrounded by the strange quiet that should be peaceful, but is only unnerving. His only company in the old barn is a somnambulant cow who snorts every so often. Lew envies her.
His maps are spread out around him on the stone floor amid the piles of hay, and he gazes at them, unseeing. The hours have passed so slowly that he’s almost afraid he is asleep, and that this is what his dreams will be made of.
Another swig of cheap whiskey - Dick never told him in the night where he’d stashed the VAT 69, insisting it was a surprise - doesn’t help. He leans back against a musty bale and closes his eyes. He’d do anything for oblivion to take over, but it’s useless.
It’s not until it’s too late that he realizes the footsteps and the creak of the door latching shut are real. He scrambles to his feet, sending paper flying, and keeps his gaze on the regulation shine of Dick’s boots as he babbles. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I think I must have hit my head, too.” His laugh sounds shrill and hysterical, and he winces.
The boots move closer, closer, closer until Dick is a foot away. His voice is soft. “Nix.”
He wants to beg Dick for forgiveness. To forget it. To turn back time. But he can’t get any of the words out. After a moment, there’s a gentle pressure under his chin as Dick tips his head up. Breath lodged in his chest, Lew meets Dick’s eyes - clear blue, shining with intensity.
Suddenly it’s as if they’re back in Toccoa, hauling up the last few feet of Currahee, fire burning in every pore. The moment stretches out between them like a tracer arcing through the night sky, and then Dick’s fingers grip Lew’s hair as their mouths meet. Lew clutches at him as their teeth clash, opening his mouth as Dick’s tongue invades.
They both moan, and Lew’s head spins. Their tongues duel, searching and stroking, and it’s better than Lew ever knew a kiss could be. He thinks he might come from this alone, and he wants more. He tugs and pushes and they tumble to the floor, where he rolls on top of Dick.
They rut against each other desperately, Dick’s hands rough on Lew’s hips, his fingers splayed over Lew’s ass as he arches up. Sweat beads on Lew’s forehead, and they pant into each other’s mouths, kissing as if their lives depend on it. The feel of Dick’s cock against him - hard as rock for him - is more exciting than anything he’s ever known, and he wonders what it would be like to be taken by him, on his hands and knees with Dick filling him.
The orgasm explodes out of him, and he presses his face into Dick’s neck as the ecstasy sweeps out all the way to his fingers and toes. Dick arches up, staccato grunts in Lew’s ear as he climaxes, his fingers digging in as he releases. “Lew,” he breathes.
As they both come down, Lew waits for Dick to push him away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rubs his hand up and down Lew’s back, and Lew kisses his neck, salt on his tongue. He can’t believe they just got off together and shot in their pants like schoolboys. He can’t believe how right it feels.
How inevitable.
Dick shifts beneath him, and Lew realizes he must be awfully heavy. He slides off onto his hip, but when he starts to move away, Dick draws him back, bringing Lew’s head to his chest as their legs tangle together. It’s beyond foolish, what they’re doing. The barn is isolated, and Lew hasn’t seen another non-bovine soul all day, but if they were found like this….
Yet he can’t seem to move, and his eyelids grow heavy as Dick caresses his hair with gentle fingers. He listens to the steady thump, thump, thump of Dick’s heart, and thinks this will be an addiction far more potent than any distillery could produce. “We should go,” he murmurs.
Dick’s arms tighten around him. “Sleep.”
“Just for a little while?”
He presses a gentle kiss to Lew’s forehead. “I’ll wake you.”
Title: The Hours
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Dick Winters/Lewis Nixon (aka Damian Lewis and Ron Livingston)
Summary: Dick gets a concussion. Lew takes care of him, and some feelings bubble to the surface. He wants his best friend in a way he can’t understand, but needs to learn.
Lew’s almost out, veins humming with the buzz of the bottle he guzzled - the only thing that will get him anywhere close to sleep these days - when he’s reaching for his weapon and creeping to the door before he’s really awake. Blinking, he gives his head a shake and listens. The war may be all but over, but it isn't done yet.
The stairs of the German house creak, and whoever is climbing them is not doing a good job of masking his approach. Pistol cocked and ready, Lew peeks out into the hallway to find Dick a few feet away at the top of the stairs. He wears an empty expression and wavers slightly on his feet.
Lew thought he’d reached the point where nothing in this goddamned war could affect him any more, but his heart hammers against his ribs. “What is it?” He’s only wearing his shorts, so he tosses his pistol back on his bed as he reaches out to Dick. He grasps Dick's shoulder as someone else bursts in downstairs.
Doc Roe takes the stairs two at a time and skids to a stop, almost crashing into Dick. He addresses Lew. “Sir, I’m sorry for barging in, but Major Winters needs to come on back to the hospital. I think he's got a concussion, and he needs to be watched.”
In a voice that’s more of a growl, Dick grounds out, “Dismissed, Roe.”
It’s so unlike him, and Lew smiles tentatively. “Hey, hey. I know your head’s harder than the side of a Sherman, but you should listen to Doc.”
There’s dried blood on Dick’s left ear, and he scratches at it. “I’m going to bed. I’m fine.”
Lew glances at Roe, who replies, “Some PFC was fooling around with a grenade. Far enough away, but the blast impact knocked him clear across the room. He needs to be woken up every hour to make sure he doesn’t slip into a coma.”
Dick scoffs, but Lew’s guts twist like a dishrag at the thought. “I’ll take care of it, Roe. Anything else I need to do? Or just wake him?”
“Ask him a few questions. The date, where he is. That kind of stuff.” Roe visibly relaxes. “Thank you for your help, sir. I just...”
“You were just doing your job, which Major Winters decided to make even more difficult for you than normal. Good work, Roe. Thank you.” He slings his arm around Dick’s shoulders as Roe disappears back down the stairs.
Muttering, Dick lets Lew guide him into the dark master bedroom at the end of the hall. Dick’s typewriter sits on a makeshift desk, and he knocks into it as he lurches toward the large, wood-carved bed. “Easy, easy,” Lew says. He gets Dick onto his back and goes to work on unlacing his boots. “You know they’ve got a few pretty nurses over at that field hospital. Nuns, I think, but I’m sure that under the circumstances, God won’t mind us looking.”
Dick doesn’t answer, just watches with those serious eyes as Lew sits beside him and goes to work on the buttons of his shirt. The moon is bright enough that Lew doesn’t need to switch on the lamp to see what he’s doing. His fingers graze skin as he peels off Dick’s shirt and trousers, and he’s glad Dick can’t see the ridiculous blush staining Lew’s cheeks as the desire to touch, to splay his hands flat and roam, ricochets through him.
Too long without a woman. He thinks of Kathy, and bitterness sours his stomach.
His expression must be troubled, because the strangest thing happens, and Dick’s palm touches Lew’s cheek. His flesh is warm, and Lew leans into it for a fleeting moment. Then he’s on his feet, because Dick doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Lew wants to do things he shouldn’t. “I’ll come back in an hour.”
There is surprising strength in Dick’s hand, which wraps around Lew’s wrist. “Stay.”
So he does, climbing into bed beside his friend and pulling the soft blankets over them. Dick is asleep within minutes, his breath fanning Lew’s shoulder. There are several inches between them, but Lew can feel the heat of Dick’s body. He reminds himself that while Major Richard D. Winters would never report him for breach of conduct should Lew ever forget himself, he’d never, ever look at him the same way again.
A fate far worse than any court martial.
*
Lew watches the second hand sweep by. Dick’s lips are slack and the lines in his face somehow seem smoothed away in sleep. When the first hour passes, Lew sits up and squeezes his shoulder. “Wake up.”
Usually Dick would spring awake instantly, ready to leap into battle no matter how long the brass puts him behind a desk. Instead he simply moans softly. Lew tightens his grip as his pulse zooms. “Dick. Come on.”
This time Dick’s eyelids flutter, and he blinks up. Lew exhales and paints on a crooked smile. “What day is it? And don’t say one ending in ‘y,’ because that’s cheating.”
It takes Dick a few moments to answer. He stares blankly. “Who are you?”
It’s not just fear that corkscrews through Lew, but a hurt that takes his breath away. He tries to smile, but it’s likely a grimace. “It’s me, Dick. Nixon.”
No response. No flicker of recognition.
“Come on, it’s been years now. You couldn’t have hit your head that hard. Dick, it’s me.” He struggles to breathe.
“Is that my name?”
“Oh, Jesus.” He vaults up, spinning in a circle as he looks for his uniform and boots before he realizes he’s not in his own room. “I’m going to get Doc. Everything’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.”
He’s at the door when Dick says, “I almost forgot, I found some VAT 69.”
Lew’s mind struggles to catch up, warring with the lingering panic before he sags with relief against the doorframe. “You…” He stops himself from leaping on the bed, crawling on instead so he doesn’t jostle Dick too much. “You son of a bitch.” He picks up a pillow and mimes hitting Dick with it. “You’re lucky you’re injured already.”
Dick’s lips curve into a smile. “I told Roe I’m fine.” His eyes droop already, though. “You don’t have to stay. Just need a good night’s sleep to get rid of this headache.”
“Yeah, well, doctor’s orders.” He settles back down, keeping as much distance between them as he can without being obvious. “See you in an hour.”
Dick’s already asleep, and Lew can breathe again.
*
The cool grey of dawn seeps in as he leans over to wake Dick. In the hours of the night - of which Lew’s watched every minute tick by - they’ve covered off where they are, Dick’s name, his current rank, names and ranks of world leaders, the date, how many German troops have surrendered to date, and Colonel Sink’s plans for further inroads into Germany. Lew shakes him slightly. “Dick.”
Dick only grunts in response, but opens his eyes. After a few moments he pushes himself up to sitting, and Lew arranges the pillows behind him. Dick sighs. He’s always been rather disgustingly energetic and easy to rise in the morning, which Lew credits to his lack of interest in alcohol and growing up on a farm. So Lew knows Dick’s hurting given the fact that he hasn’t bounded out of bed and half-jokingly admonished him for lazing about.
He looks so comically miserable that Lew reaches over and gently draws his head near, pressing a kiss to the pale skin of Dick’s forehead. It’s what Lew’s mother would do - what she did countless times whenever he was ill as a child.
He cradles Dick’s face in his hand. Their eyes meet, and before he knows what he’s doing, Lew’s leaning in, Dick’s lips dry beneath his. A voice screams in his mind to stop, but if he’s honest with himself - and he rarely is - God he’s wanted this for so long.
He wants his best friend in a way he can’t understand, but needs to learn.
Dick is a statue beneath his touch, and Lew regains control and pulls back, his hand falling away. Dick doesn’t shout, but of course he wouldn’t. Lew searches his face, not sure what he expects to see. What he hopes to see. What he’s terrified to see.
A small furrow appears between Dick’s eyebrows.
Footsteps thunder up the stairs and Dick’s orderly calls out. “Major! Colonel Sink requests your presence for briefing at zero-six-hundred hours.”
Not moving, Dick’s gaze is still zeroed in on Lew’s face.
The footsteps near. “Major?” The orderly is at the door.
“Answer!” Lew hisses.
This seems to jolt Dick back to the here and now. “Yes,” he croaks. He clears his throat. “Reporting to Colonel Sink.” With that, he’s up and out of bed, all business, headache or no. He splashes water into the washstand and bends over it, rinsing his face.
Lew listens for the closing of the front door, and retreats.
*
The sun is sinking, and Lew wishes he could sleep. He should be able to, since he was up all night. He should have slept the day away now that they're off the line, surrounded by the strange quiet that should be peaceful, but is only unnerving. His only company in the old barn is a somnambulant cow who snorts every so often. Lew envies her.
His maps are spread out around him on the stone floor amid the piles of hay, and he gazes at them, unseeing. The hours have passed so slowly that he’s almost afraid he is asleep, and that this is what his dreams will be made of.
Another swig of cheap whiskey - Dick never told him in the night where he’d stashed the VAT 69, insisting it was a surprise - doesn’t help. He leans back against a musty bale and closes his eyes. He’d do anything for oblivion to take over, but it’s useless.
It’s not until it’s too late that he realizes the footsteps and the creak of the door latching shut are real. He scrambles to his feet, sending paper flying, and keeps his gaze on the regulation shine of Dick’s boots as he babbles. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I think I must have hit my head, too.” His laugh sounds shrill and hysterical, and he winces.
The boots move closer, closer, closer until Dick is a foot away. His voice is soft. “Nix.”
He wants to beg Dick for forgiveness. To forget it. To turn back time. But he can’t get any of the words out. After a moment, there’s a gentle pressure under his chin as Dick tips his head up. Breath lodged in his chest, Lew meets Dick’s eyes - clear blue, shining with intensity.
Suddenly it’s as if they’re back in Toccoa, hauling up the last few feet of Currahee, fire burning in every pore. The moment stretches out between them like a tracer arcing through the night sky, and then Dick’s fingers grip Lew’s hair as their mouths meet. Lew clutches at him as their teeth clash, opening his mouth as Dick’s tongue invades.
They both moan, and Lew’s head spins. Their tongues duel, searching and stroking, and it’s better than Lew ever knew a kiss could be. He thinks he might come from this alone, and he wants more. He tugs and pushes and they tumble to the floor, where he rolls on top of Dick.
They rut against each other desperately, Dick’s hands rough on Lew’s hips, his fingers splayed over Lew’s ass as he arches up. Sweat beads on Lew’s forehead, and they pant into each other’s mouths, kissing as if their lives depend on it. The feel of Dick’s cock against him - hard as rock for him - is more exciting than anything he’s ever known, and he wonders what it would be like to be taken by him, on his hands and knees with Dick filling him.
The orgasm explodes out of him, and he presses his face into Dick’s neck as the ecstasy sweeps out all the way to his fingers and toes. Dick arches up, staccato grunts in Lew’s ear as he climaxes, his fingers digging in as he releases. “Lew,” he breathes.
As they both come down, Lew waits for Dick to push him away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rubs his hand up and down Lew’s back, and Lew kisses his neck, salt on his tongue. He can’t believe they just got off together and shot in their pants like schoolboys. He can’t believe how right it feels.
How inevitable.
Dick shifts beneath him, and Lew realizes he must be awfully heavy. He slides off onto his hip, but when he starts to move away, Dick draws him back, bringing Lew’s head to his chest as their legs tangle together. It’s beyond foolish, what they’re doing. The barn is isolated, and Lew hasn’t seen another non-bovine soul all day, but if they were found like this….
Yet he can’t seem to move, and his eyelids grow heavy as Dick caresses his hair with gentle fingers. He listens to the steady thump, thump, thump of Dick’s heart, and thinks this will be an addiction far more potent than any distillery could produce. “We should go,” he murmurs.
Dick’s arms tighten around him. “Sleep.”
“Just for a little while?”
He presses a gentle kiss to Lew’s forehead. “I’ll wake you.”