#18 December 1944 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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In The Bleak Mid-Winter

[One-shot]

Ronald Speirs x Nurse!Female Reader

No good deed goes unpunished, but your reassignment brings with it an unexpected reward.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex - m/f receiving, fingering, cum eating] - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: This was written entirely on my phone as my laptop is in for emergency repairs - I hated the experience, and apologize if there are any formatting issues or a surplus of typos. Also, I made some distinct narrative choices in writing this but I won’t burden you with them up front. They’re in the post-script if you’re interested! This is a work of fiction based off the actors’ portrayal in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life persons mentioned within.

Word Count: 6171

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December 29, 1944 - Bastogne

“Fifty surgeries in two days with only three deaths. It is nothing short of a miracle. I’m halfway through a report recommending you all for a medal....and then I come to find out you landed in the middle of an encircled town on an unpiloted glider, through all manner of artillery fire, with a goddamn woman?! A woman!”

Your bleary eyes focused on the lit end of the cigarette pinched between the index and middle finger of your right hand, the icy caress of the north wind howling between the tent and the garage outside the Bastogne barracks one of the only things keeping you awake. Weary from nearly forty-eight hours of surgery, it would have been difficult to stay awake under normal circumstances, but the mortification you felt as General McAuliffe screamed at Major Dorward behind thin walls of canvas was certainly helping keep you on your aching feet in the ankle deep snow.

Bundled tightly in your great coat, collar turned up against the wind, face buried into the olive drab scarf around your neck, helmet protecting your head, the only bit of exposed skin was that hand you were straining to focus on. The other was deep inside your pocket, balled into a fist. You were vaguely aware of various people darting through the barracks yard behind you, making their way to and fro, loading vehicles, delivering men to the now-central clearing station since the bombing of the cathedral the day before your arrival. Covered as you were, you were barely indistinguishable from an ordinary soldier, yet the General had managed to find out your secret nonetheless.

“I have every faith that she can handle herself out here sir, there was no more qualified surgical assistant to accompany us.”

“But she is not a surgical assistant, Major, is she?! She’s just a nurse! A nurse whose life you endangered by sneaking her aboard that glider! I ought to have you court martialed!!!”

The General did have a point, hidden though it was within the avalanche of vitriol he was sending the Major’s way. You were in fact no more than a surgical nurse - assistants were enlisted men. But during your third or fourth surgery with the Major, right after D-Day, a brand new surgical assistant had been assigned to the operating room and not five minutes in had fainted to the floor.

With the patient in a life threatening position you had stepped forward to fill in the gap and ensure no impact to care or outcome. It had been the start of a very effective working relationship as the 12th Evacuation Hospital made its way across France behind the advancing American army.

Thus when Major Dorward had volunteered for this assignment, and asked if you would consider joining him, your only hesitation was born of the concern for the hell you two might catch. The hell he was in the very midst of catching right now.

You hissed at the sudden pain as the lit end of the cigarette met your flesh and quickly flicked it into the snow, not having taken one puff. When General Nuts himself had stormed into the tent, eyes blazing, the Major had sent you outside in the early dawn light with the lit cigarette and his rifle for protection. It had rather felt like you were your own firing squad, though the Major was most certainly the one under fire at the moment.

The creak of boots in the nearby snow, much closer than all those that had passed by before, made you jump slightly. You turned quickly to see an exhausted soldier, eyes bleached a pale grey in the now-brilliant morning sunshine. He looked cold, and exhausted, as all the men you’d run into here did. His face was handsome, though, lashes luxuriously long for a man carrying a Thompson submachine gun. He held out a pack of cigarettes to you, offering you a new one to replace that which you’d mistakenly allowed to burn out and you shook your head before extracting your face from its position nestled deep within your scarf.

“I don’t actually smoke, please don’t waste any of your cigarettes on me, soldier.” You smiled weakly, watching as his eyes widened a fraction before the General’s voice somehow rose even further in volume to respond to something the Major had said.

“I don’t give two shits if she can transplant heads, the risks involved were unacceptable, Major, and believe me you have not heard the last of this! Your surgical record over the last two days has been impressive, but this was utterly reckless!”

The soldier’s eyes flicked to the tent then back to you as everything surely came together in his mind and you looked down at the outline of yourcombat boots buried in the snow, wondering if it was too much to ask for the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You heard the tent flap flutter and tensed in anticipation of the General’s departure, but instead a gunshot rang out from across the clearing beyond the barracks, the snow scattering at your feet.

Strong arms yanked around your waist and pulled you back behind the shelter of the tent and the pair of you quickly lay flat in the snow, unmoving, barely breathing. The harassment from the enemy had been almost constant from the moment the glider had entered occupied air space and that, combined with any and all abilities you might possess being questioned by the General simply because of your gender, had you feeling rather enraged.

Pulling Major Dorward’s rifle from your shoulder, you crawled on your elbows to cautiously peer around the corner of the tent across the meadow and into the tree line beyond. Nothing moved. Years spent stalking deer at your father’s side had taught you patience, and how to aim the rifle in your hands. It seemed the former would not be required as a soldier came blithely walking out of the garage-turned-operating theatre completely unaware that there was a sniper.

The soldier at your side gestured at him violently - you could feel the movement of his body where his hip was still pressed against your leg, but it went unnoticed. Another shot rang out.

“Holy shit!” The man wailed as he darted back inside, a shower of brick dust audibly hitting the snow somewhere to your rear. The sniper was clearly lacking in talent, but you were focused on the movement in the coniferous tree to your two o’clock.

Exhaling slowly you squeezed the trigger and there was a hoarse shout followed by the sound of a body tumbling through cracking branches and ending in a sickening thud.

“Trying to kill my goddamn patients.” You muttered bitterly under your breath and carefully sat up, looking back to the soldier as he exhaled slowly.

He was eyeing you, expression intense and inscrutable, but your gaze was drawn to the gap at the collar of his ODs where you could see fresh blood oozing from a poorly bandaged wound at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, staining his wool shirt just below below his silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia.

“You’re bleeding, Lieutenant.” You said quickly, pushing on his hip to encourage him to roll over so you might kneel at his side for a better look, pleased when he immediately complied.

You laid the rifle in the snow next to him and pulled the bandages away, frowning deeply to see lingering splinters of wood in the wound. As you carefully probed at them he hissed and you tensed, quickly apologizing.

“It’s nothing, ma’am, I’m fine.”

The tent flap opening and closing followed by heavy footfalls in the snow signalled the arrival of General McAuliffe on the scene.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” He asked quickly and the man below you nodded quickly.

“Just some shrapnel from a tree burst, sir.”

You looked up to the General slowly, watching his eyes land on the rifle at the Lieutenant’s side before glancing across the clearing.

“Good. Well done with the sniper, son.”

The Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably but you nodded quickly, helping him sit up. “An impressive shot, sir.” You added.

The General’s eyes fell on you, still full of that heated rage, but apparently he’d run out of words to say on the subject of your unwanted presence for he simply turned and made his way back towards the barracks.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Lieutenant.” You turned back to him, the coppery tang of blood on the air focusing you like nothing else seemed to be able to.

Working your way to your feet, you picked up the abandoned rifle before leading him into the tent. Major Dorward looked up from some papers on his desk, opening his mouth but closing it quickly as you were followed by the Lieutenant.

“Tree burst shrapnel, sir.” You announced in your easy working shorthand.

“Damn Nazis have weaponized the forest. Have a seat, soldier.” He stood and offered his chair, walking over to the stash of supplies to fetch a field kit and bandages for you as you set the rifle on the cot in the corner, putting your helmet down beside it. “Ah my apologies, trooper.” He amended.

You turned back to see the distinct jump boots with bloused trousers now that the Lieutenant was seated and smiled. “I apologize as well, Lieutenant. I missed that outside.”

You worked his ODs and wool shirt open to began carefully cleaning his wound, leaving him in his undershirt in the chill of the tent.

“Doesn’t seem you miss much, Nurse.” He looked up to you as he spoke softly and you swallowed thickly as you noted his eyes were actually hazel, with flecks of gold around his pupils.

Mercifully Major Dorward broke out into rich laughter and shook his head. “That she doesn’t.” He commiserated affectionately from his newfound seat on the cot.

“Let me guess,” you murmured to the man seated before you as you gently worked out the last few splinters of wood that had escaped initial treatment, “you also told them this was nothing at the aid station because there were men there whom you considered hurt worse than you.” You glanced to his face as his lips twitched a little. “This could have become a real problem, Lieutenant, I’m glad you came over to offer me a cigarette.”

Turning back, you called the Major over to double check your work.

“Wound is clean and ready for bandaging.” He nodded after looking it over. “When you’re done I suggest you try and sleep. We’re driving out as soon as the truck is ready and the ride out will be about as relaxing as the flight in.”

“Understood, thank you Major.” You nodded as he stepped out of the tent to light a cigarette. You carefully lay some gauze over the crook of the Lieutenant’s shoulder before wrapping some bandages around his neck and under his armpit to hold it in place. “This should heal nicely in a week or so if you can do your best to keep it dry for me…” you trailed off as your fingers found the hole in his ODs.

Casting about the tent, your eyes landed on a tattered blanket in the corner and you began fashioning a patch, whip stitching it into place over the gash in the fabric. “That ought to do it.”

“Thank you, Nurse.” He murmured, looking up at you before he stood slowly, buttoning up his shirt and ODs with practiced efficiency.

“Take care of yourself, trooper.” You nodded, watching him step out, hoping against hope that he would be alright out there.

General McAuliffe proved to be a man of his word, which in retrospect was of no surprise to you whatsoever. The hellish ride out of Bastogne in the back of a truck on the only opened road, with the sounds of battle still raging on either side, took you to Orval where you received orders to report to the 60th Field Hospital there while the men from the 12th would return to the Evacuation Hospital you’d been stationed with since before June 1944. You had been informed your personal effects would arrive at a ‘later date.’

Nuts, indeed.

You worked in Orval for nearly a week, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, wearing the same clothing day-in, day-out, until the 60th was relieved and pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand. As promised, your belongings were waiting for you there, in the iron grip of a dour-faced Chief Nurse MacDonald who was only too happy to put a ‘reckless, insubordinate’ Nurse like you in her place at the 123rd Station Hospital.

What followed was a grueling month of scrubbing and refitting the near derelict buildings abandoned by the Airborne when they were abruptly called to the Ardennes. By the time the place was worthy of being called a hospital, you had managed to become at least friendly with your new colleagues, though they remained suspicious after your filthy and unceremonious arrival.

By mid-February, a tent city began to spring up around the base, heralding the impending arrival of troops from the front. And with them came all manner of cold weather maladies - pneumonia, trench foot, frostbite. Working on the general ward now, you could only eye the surgical nurses with envy, knowing your skills were going to waste emptying bedpans and changing bandages and that you had no one to blame but yourself.

Stubborn in all things, however, you worked without complaint, often being rewarded with more work or the worst assignments because your superiors knew you would complete any task with efficient silence. It was precisely this combination that saw you assigned to the night shift, a small mercy in that the vengeful Chief Nurse would never deign to work such hours, allowing you to develop a new working relationship with Captain Munro, MD.

“Nurse might I borrow you a moment?” He interrupted you as you stepped away from the bedside of a postoperative patient and you quickly nodded, following him off the ward and down the hall to his office. “I’m up to my eyeballs in trench foot but there’s an officer in here, seems he lacerated his hand helping one of his men climb out a transport - quite stubborn. Whether or not it needs sutures I am confident you can determine…” he exhaled, clearly exhausted from working a double shift as he came to a stop outside the door. “Is it alright if I leave this one in your capable hands? You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet.” He looked at you pleadingly, eyes underscored by dark bags of fatigue as he held out the chart and you nodded quickly.

“Certainly sir, please don’t worry about a thing.” You smiled softly at the relieved slump of his shoulders before he nodded firmly in thanks, dashing off down the hall to no doubt deal with another man’s beleaguered feet.

You glanced over the chart of Captain Ronald Speirs quickly before knocking on the door, giving the man some warning, before you stepped inside. You tilted your head to see the Captain with his back turned to you, halfway back into the worn jacket of his ODs, appearing quite prepared to leave.

“Just a moment please, Captain Speirs, I would like to take a look at your hand, sir.” You said softly, eyes widening as the man turned around swiftly, arms still slightly akimbo, to reveal the very same Lieutenant whom you’d bandaged that morning in Bastogne. Who’d saved your life, and watched you take out a sniper with barely a comment.

His eyes were fatigued, his hair grown long. He clearly hadn’t seen a razor in quite some time and yet you were struggling to recall a moment when you’d found a man so attractive in your entire life. You suddenly felt acutely self conscious in your white and brown seer sucker hospital dress with brown cotton stockings and cardigan to match, nursing cap pinned in your hair.

“It’s nothing ma’am, I’m fine.” He repeated himself word for word and you bit the inside of your cheek, having a hard time deciphering if he was joking or just built that obstinately. You did not miss, however, the slight rasp in the back of his throat.

“Good, let’s keep it that way, shall we Captain?”

You gestured for him to sit in the chair he’d surely recently vacated and carefully took the one across the corner of the desk from him, holding out your hand expectantly. As he set the back of his left hand in yours, you frowned at the laceration along the side of his palm. Captain Munro had been right, it really was borderline in need of suturing.

Laying his hand on the desk gently you stepped over to the cabinet to collect the necessary supplies, deciding to play it safe. You could suture quickly enough - the man clearly needed to get some rest and you did not want to keep him from it. While swiping his palm clean with an iodine wipe you glanced at him as he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t think you were assigned here.” He commented quietly.

You shook your head ruefully as you unpacked a tube of pre-threaded sutures with a curved needle. “I wasn’t until very recently. I used to be assigned to the 12th Evacuation Hospital but after my…behavior it was deemed necessary to reassign me.”

“I said nothing, I swear.” He replied quickly, brow furrowing and you could not help the smile that pulled at your lips.

“I believe you, Captain. Heaven knows where I’d be if you had.” Gently positioning his hand on the desk top, you smoothly rotated the curved needle through first one edge of his cut and then the other, looping the length of it around your forceps twice before pulling the end through to create a square knot.

You repeated two more casts before snipping the ends of the suture, looking to him sharply as he let out a rattling cough. “How long have you had that cough, Captain?”

“Few days…” he replied evasively and you hummed disapprovingly.

“If it doesn’t go away in a couple of days, you should come back and see me.” You spoke as you began the next stitch.

“And if it does get better?” He asked quietly, watching your careful work.

“I’ll be here all the same.” You replied, pressing your lips together as you fought another smile at the thrill that unfurled in your stomach.

“Whom should I ask for?” His voice came out particularly gravelly and he cleared his throat forcefully.

It was your turn to look startled as you suddenly came to realize you had yet to introduce yourself. You quickly shared your name before shaking your head in shame. “You must think me some wild animal, Captain, please forgive me.” You muttered and tied off the fourth and final stitch.

He nodded at you, eyes taking on a glossy quality that had you growing more concerned by the moment. You set down your tools and raised a hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his forehead, heart clenching as his eyes fluttered closed. Those infernal eyelashes dusting against his cheeks. His skin felt a normal temperature but another ragged cough wracked his frame and you clenched your jaw.

“I’d like to listen to your lungs, Captain.” You muttered and stepped over to the cabinet once more to grab the stethoscope you’d seen there.

He blinked up at you as he began to undo his wool shirt. “It’s Ron.” He corrected you and another smile escaped you before you managed to smother it, hands cupping the bell of the stethoscope to warm it.

“Thank you, Ron.” You said softly, inserting the tips into your ears before stepping closer to press the stethoscope against his upper left chest. “Deep breath in for me?”

You listened carefully to each quadrant of his lungs, pleased there was no crackling or anything else abnormal. Satisfied it was most likely just a cold, you looped the stethoscope around your neck as you stepped back.

“Everything seems alright, promise me you’ll get some rest and keep warm?” You asked gently, doing your best not to allow your eyes to linger on the way his undershirt clung to his lithe frame. You did take a selfish moment to appreciate how well his wound from Bastogne had healed, however.

“Promise.” He nodded, doing up his shirt more slowly this time, courtesy of the stitches in his palm. “Remind me when I get to see you again?”

You bit your lip slightly and took a breath. “If the cough doesn’t improve, a couple of days. To get your stitches out, a couple of weeks. Please keep them clean and dry until tomorrow night at least.”

“Got it.” He nodded and straightened his OD jacket, pulling on a worn scarf from the back of the chair before standing slowly.

“But for now straight to bed.” You opened the door, watching over him feeling wildly and inexplicably overprotective.

“Thank you.” He looked to you drowsily and you nodded, seeing him out then turning back to clean up and complete his chart before rushing back to your actual duties that night.

One week passed, and then another. There was no visit from Captain Speirs. You did your utmost to convince yourself it was for the best, that it meant he was healthy. That he’d had his stitches removed by a nurse on the day shift at his convenience. Word came that his entire Division would receive a Presidential Unit Citation and Ike himself would be coming to visit to deliver it on Roosevelt’s behalf.

You were promptly informed by Chief Nurse MacDonald that your presence during the ceremony was not welcome, but if you wanted to observe the Divisional dress rehearsal a few days before, on your own time of course, she would not stop you.

Breaking out your dress uniform for the first time in months, you obstinately got ready just after the end of your shift that morning and strode your way over to the parade ground with a few of the girls on the evening shift who were certainly better rested than you. More than a few off duty nurses from the five other hospitals in Mourmelon had found their way onto the grounds to take a peek at the men in their finery and you could only imagine that number would be many times higher on the fifteenth when Ike himself was there.

The weather was thankfully cooperative as you huddled together near a collection of trees watching the men of the 101st file past. The contrast between their neatly pressed uniforms with mirror shined boots and the battered but not beaten men you’d encountered in Bastogne was truly striking. Each and every one of them truly deserved the honor that was about to be bestowed upon them.

Once everyone was satisfied that the ceremony would proceed without a hitch, the men were dismissed and you turned to head back to your tent to catch what sleep you could before your shift that night. Smothering a yawn behind your hand, the group of women you were walking with all came to a halt when a familiar voice called ‘Nurse!’ All of you almost seemed to turn back as one.

If six pairs of inquisitive female eyes intimidated Captain Speirs he did not let it show. He quickly clarified with your name, the other nurses filing away murmuring amongst themselves disappointedly.

“Good morning, Captain.�� You nodded to him as he came to stand in front of you, sliding his helmet from his head to tuck it under his arm.

“Good morning.” He replied, eyes skimming over your uniform curiously.

You noted he’d found the time to visit a barber, his hair neatly trimmed and styled, though you rather missed the tousled waves he’d first arrived with.

“You are sounding well, Captain. I’m glad to hear it.” You smiled softly. “Did your hand mend nicely?”

He lifted it for your inspection and you looked to him startled to see the stitches still in place.

“Captain, these sutures were ready to be removed days ago.” You chided him softly as you cradled his hand in yours.

“I was told you were unavailable.” He replied quietly and you looked to his face quizzically before it dawned on you that he must have returned to the hospital during another shift and simply left when he learned you weren’t there.

“My apologies, I work nights. Any nurse can take care of these, they must itch something fierce.” You frowned.

“What time does your shift begin tonight?” He asked, seemingly happy to leave his hand at your mercy for as long as you chose to hold it.

“2100.” You replied, noting the disappointment that pinched at the bridge of his nose. “But I could meet you there at 2015 if it means getting this taken care of.”

He nodded firmly. “2015, then. Thank you.” He eyed you a moment as you tried in vain to fight back another yawn. “What time does your shift end?”

“0900. I should get back to get some rest. Just wanted to sneak a peek at the big show. You boys will do great when Ike’s in town.” You nodded warmly.

“You won’t be here?” He tilted his head curiously and you let out a scoff of self deprecation.

“Reckless, insubordinate nurses like me aren’t to be seen by the Supreme Allied Commander.”

A furrow appeared between his brows, the muscle of his jaw ticking slightly before he exhaled. “I wish they would stop punishing you for your bravery.”

Your eyebrows shot up beneath the brim of your service cap. You had been trying your damnedest to not let it bother you, especially after hearing the men of the 12th Hospital you’d gone in with had all received the Silver Cross. To hear him speak in your defense was quite honestly overwhelming.

After a careful glance around the nearly empty parade ground confirmed the remaining individuals were otherwise occupied, you leaned in to quickly press your lips to his freshly shaved cheek, thumb swiping away any trace of your lipstick.

“Thank you, Ron.” You swallowed tightly as the heat of his gaze was as palpable as a caress on the skin of your face. “I will see you later to remove your stitches.” Squeezing his hand gently you released it to hang at his side.

His silent nod was the only response you received before you turned to make your way back to your tent for some much needed rest, though your mind would have much rather focused on the way the sunlight lit his eyes than to let you sleep.

Arriving at the hospital that night at 2000 you tracked down Captain Munro and secured his permission to borrow his office once more in the name of treating the stubborn Captain Speirs. Setting out suture scissors and tweezers on a tray upon the desk, you hurried out front to meet the Captain lest he was misinformed about your availability again.

“Good Evening.” He nodded as you stepped outside, hugging your cardigan close against the chill of the night.

“Evening, Captain, please follow me.” You smiled and led him through the maze of hallways before holding open the door to the prepared office.

He assumed the same seat as before and, closing the door behind you, you sat opposite, looking over his palm as he set it in your waiting hand.

“You’ve done a very good job keeping it clean for me, Captain, thank you.” You smiled and picked up the curved scissors, the edge that pressed against the skin not at all sharp. “I’ll cut the stitches first and then pull them out with the tweezers, alright?”

He nodded, watching you closely as you snipped your way through the silk strands very carefully.

“They call me ‘killer’ you know…” he spoke apropos of nothing and you slowly raised your eyes, feeling as though you were joining an internal conversation well in progress.

Rumors spread through camp faster than that bone rattling cough he’d arrived with - you’d heard your fair share of things about him. Particularly after your tent mates had learned that he’d spoken to you earlier that day on the parade ground.

“Sure he’s pretty and all but after the things he did to those Nazi prisoners…” Betty from Indiana had insisted with a dramatic shudder.

“And his own Sergeant!” Philomena of New York had chimed in with an emphatic nod.

All of it struck you as hollow and vapid, coming from two wide-eyed girls fresh from Stateside who’d only ever known war stationed in hospitals with roofs and walls. Never been fired on, never had an enemy soldier try and take the life of a patient right out from under them.

“Well, Ron,” you replied thoughtfully as you set the scissors onto the waiting tray, “they could easily say the same thing about me. It just so happens I had a very honorable man at my side when my anger got the best of me.”

His eyes seized yours, pinning you to the spot with your hand hovering just above the set of tweezers as you forgot how to breathe. His lips tentatively began to form words several times before he abandoned his attempts to speak and lunged forward to close the space between you, his lips slotting against yours in reply instead.

Inhaling sharply through your nose in surprise, you found yourself quickly leaning into his kiss, fingers threading into his shorter hair as you tilted your head to press your lips more firmly to his. Sliding his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you close, tongue delving into your mouth greedily. A soft whimper escaped your throat only to be swallowed by his devouring mouth as he tasted you thoroughly.

Appearing discontent with the separation between your bodies, his hands shifted to grip your hips, guiding you onto his lap before his fingers began to pluck at the buttons of your cardigan. Rucking up the skirt of your dress and slip beneath, you settled over his hips, shuddering as the hard bulge of his length nestled tightly against your core.

“We don’t have a lot of time” you panted against his lips as his hands brushed aside your open cardigan to tug at the tie of your wrap dress, revealing your cream coloured slip beneath.

“Understood.” He murmured as he pulled back to drink you in, eyes taking on that glossy quality from back in February that’d had you so convinced he was febrile.

“Ron…” you urged gently, your own hands sliding between your bodies to work at the fastenings of his dress trousers.

Lost in some sort of trance he leaned forward to press his lips against the hollow of your throat before he secured the ball chain of your ID tags between his teeth and pulled them out from beneath the v-neck of your slip. Brushing his lips against the flat metal stamped with your name and serial number, preceded by the letter N, your heart lurched beneath your ribs fondly as it forgot its normal rhythm for a few beats.

The feel of his fingertips undoing the fastenings of your stockings from your garter straps refocused you and you quickly worked his fly open, sliding his trousers and boxers down as he did the same with your underwear, depositing them onto the floor.

Shifting higher onto your knees, you pressed your face against his temple as he took his cock into his hand, pressing into your entrance slowly. You whimpered breathily against his hair before dropping your head to the crook of his shoulder to try your best to keep your volume down. Rocking your hips against his with a smothered moan you clenched your thighs to begin working up and down along his length.

Heavy breaths fell from his parted lips, brushing against the skin of your neck, goose flesh erupting in the wake of each exhale. His fingers curled into the flesh of your hips as he helped drive your hips against his.

“Ahn, Ron!” You keened against his jacket, lifting your head to kiss him hungrily.

He rocked his hips up into yours each time your pelvis met his before letting out a frustrated grunt against your lips. “On the desk.” He rasped pleadingly and you nodded quickly, sliding from his lap to shuffle backwards, pushing the tray of instruments further behind you before perching on the edge.

Surging to his feet, he nestled between your legs, tongue sliding along yours as he thrust into your aching warmth once more. You cried out hungrily down his throat as your nails dug into the sleeves of his uniform jacket, clinging to him as he set a deliciously dizzying pace that had your toes curling in your shoes.

A ragged moan rumbled through his chest as his cock twitched within your wet heat and he quickly pulled back, chest heaving. Pushing from the desk, you fell to your knees, ignoring the slight sting as they impacted the floor, to wrap your lips around the leaking tip of his length.

He hissed through clenched teeth, hand coming to rest against the back of your head as you hollowed your cheeks tightly around him. Encircling him in your grasp, you eagerly stared up at his face as you stroked his cock, clenching your thighs together as the corded muscle of his neck flexed with the effort to remain silent as his salty release filled your mouth.

Laving him clean with your tongue, you sat back on your heels, swallowing every last drop as he watched on in stunned silence. Fingers sliding up your thighs to retrieve the first of your garter straps, you shivered a little as you remained highly sensitive, having been so close yourself, but also very much aware of the lack of time. You rose to your feet, about to begin fastening your stockings when his hands were on your waist, guiding you to sit on top of the desk once again.

“You didn’t…” He exhaled through flared nostrils and shook his head sharply. “Unacceptable.” Was all the warning he afforded you before he crouched down to seal his lips around your throbbing clit, two fingers plunging into your trembling warmth.

“Holy…” you barely managed to cover your mouth with your palm, hips bucking violently toward him.

He hummed against you approvingly as you lay back onto the worn wooden surface, writhing as fingers picked up the thread of your pleasure, winding it tighter and tighter as his mouth felt like it was sucking your very soul from you. Every muscle in your body became taught with exquisite tension until, at last, like the blowing of a fuse your release detonated behind your clenched eyelids.

Relaxing into the desk top with languid ease, you ran your fingers through his hair in tender appreciation. “Really…have no time now…” you murmured breathlessly and he pressed his damp lips to your inner thigh before pulling you up to a seated position and began to help you re-dress.

Any time his lips were vaguely within the vincinty of yours, you unhelpfully insisted on kissing him softly, significantly hindering progress, but eventually the pair of you were mostly presentable. He cupped your cheek with his left hand and your eyes shot wide at the rasp of sutures against your skin.

“Ron!” You gasped, grabbing his wrist and groping behind you for the tweezers before setting about carefully trying to remove them.

It was his turn to be a nuisance as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin of your neck, sighing gently, making you giggle under your breath as his eyelashes tickled your flesh.

“You are a wild animal.” His voice held a dreamlike quality, lips brushing against your throat as he spoke.

You honestly would have swatted him if his tone weren’t so reverent, doing your best to focus on removing the last two sutures.

“A lioness - fierce and strong and brave and gorgeous.” He rambled before brushing a line of feather-light kisses up towards your jaw.

It made your heart ache with the longing to linger with this verbose version of him that had somehow been unleashed, but according to the clock above the door, you had to be on duty in two minutes.

“Ronald Speirs, you sweet talker.” You whispered weakly, setting down the tweezers, your task finally managed. “I hope you sleep well.”

“You know I will, thanks to you.” His eyes met yours warmly before he cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for one last searing kiss. “May I…write to you?” He asked, incongruously hesitant after all that had transpired.

Sliding your arms around his neck, you kissed his forehead. “You’d better. This lioness has claws.” You smirked in a playfully threatening manner, earning a broad grin in response.

————————————-

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

Post-script: Firstly, I agonized for several hours about whether or not to have Ron be married in this. Ultimately, after reading that Ronald Speirs asked his first wife not be mentioned in any way in the miniseries I decided to do the same here. Secondly, while I used a fake name for the Major who flew into Bastogne by glider, this is all based on real events that took place! I decided to use fictional characters here to justify the radical actions I had them take in bringing the reader, but you the story of Major Soutter and the men of the 12th Evacuation Hospital is really quite something!

#ronald speirs x reader #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs fanfic #ronald speirs imagines #ronald speirs imagine #ronald speirs #ron speirs #band of brothers smut #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Two

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

Dick's mandated dose of civilization puts him, quite literally, on a collision course with someone he had not expected to see again.

Warnings: Discussion of Injuries and Death, Hints of PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes [handjob, fingering, vaginal sex, condoms] - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 6723

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Paris – December 10, 1944

Seeing your roommate off on her train to Arnhem was not exactly how you’d pictured spending your first day off in months. But Lucy had become a close friend to you over the past several weeks you’d shared the relatively luxurious accommodations, and she was all nerves as she headed even closer to the German border. Dressed in your Canadian Women’s Army Corp uniform with Lucy, or Luus in her native Dutch, in her Women’s Royal Navy Service uniform, you had helped her cart her belongings to Gare du Nord to catch her train.

Neither of you had technically trained in the respective uniforms you wore, instead coming to the service by way of the Strategic Operations Executive, due to your language abilities and other skills. Lucy’s family had only very recently moved to England from the Netherlands and her mastery of the Dutch language would be an asset to the Allied headquarters being established in Arnhem. Similarly, you were expecting to spend the rest of the war working in Paris. Exchanging knives and explosives for typewriter ribbon and file folders. Your feelings on the matter oscillated between relief and impotence on a daily basis, but you had little say in the matter.

Waiting until her train was pulling its way out of the station, you began making your way through the flood of passengers disembarking from another train that had pulled in across the platform. Several people bumped into you but only one apologized.

“Sorry –” Spoke a voice you’d probably recognize just about anywhere before he repeated. “Excusez-moi.”

You spun around quickly, eyes going wide as the Lieutenant from Normandy stood before you, sending your thoughts hurtling back to early June. You had been gasping for breath – the proximity of the detonation had driven the air from your lungs, compounded by the now dead weight of the German solider on top of you. An obnoxious ringing had taken up residence in your ears, obscuring any and all other sound as you had futilely pushed at the burden above you, shock weakening your muscles. The ground had begun to tremble then, an immediately recognizable sign that tanks were approaching, increasing the beat of your heart to a frantic rate as you lay essentially incapacitated in the road.

Suddenly the pressure above you had eased and you had frozen, holding your breath and closing your eyes, unable to determine just who exactly was intervening in your situation. When a pair of fingers found the pulse in your neck and two sets of hands lifted you from the road, you had risked cracking your eyelids only to be greeted by the sight of the Lieutenant carrying you by your knees. His face had been wreathed in sunlight, sea-glass green eyes striking in the shadow cast beneath his helmet, looking practically ethereal as he had moved you to safety.

Brought back to the present by the realization that you were gaping at him like a startled rabbit, lost in your memories, your eyes flicked to the cap on his head and confidently noted his promotion. “A captain now.”

“A Canadian now.” He replied as his own eyes settled on the patch embroidered on your shoulder. “Or were you always, Charlotte?” The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes met yours.

Your throat clenched at the name, and you swallowed hard to clear it before smiling even wider than before. “I’m sorry you’ve got me confused with my good friend Charlotte Roussel. She’s told me all about you.” You offered your hand to shake as you introduced yourself properly, no pseudonym this time, only your real name.

Taking your gloved hand in his, he shook it firmly with a bemused expression playing on his face. “Dick Winters. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Captain. If you are in need of a place to stay, I happen to have a recently vacated room in my apartment I would be happy to loan to you, free of charge. The hotels in Paris would love nothing more than to liberate you of your American dollars.” You hazarded a guess that he was on a short leave based on the small bag he carried at his side.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” His denial was half-hearted, leaving you with an opening to convince him.

“Not at all. Besides, Charlotte would not forgive me if I did not repay you for saving her life.” You insisted with a nod, not missing the way his eyes slid to your forehead. You flexed your fingers at your sides, willing them to remain there rather than nervously checking that your hair was covering the still-healing scar.

“If I remember it correctly, she saved mine first.”

“Please it’s just a short subway ride.” You gestured down the significantly emptier platform and he nodded his assent, turning to follow you.

You helped him purchase his fare, his unfamiliarity with the local currency somehow charming, before guiding him underground. Securing a pair of seats by the door, he had barely slid into place before someone was calling your name from further down the carriage.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.” You apologized before hurrying over to greet one of your colleagues, a staff assistant to one of the officers at headquarters.

He asked you all about your plans for your days off while not-so-subtly trying to find out more about the American soldier you had boarded the subway with. It was an easy topic to skirt around by encouraging him to talk about his recent promotion and his new French girlfriend, but you found your eyes glancing at Captain Winters as his posture seemed to grow more and more rigid.

“Sorry to cut you off, First Sergeant Danvers, but I’ll see you in the office on Tuesday.” You excused yourself as politely but as firmly as possible before returning to stand beside the Captain, very carefully setting your hand on his shoulder.

“Captain?” You asked softly, swallowing as he looked to you sharply before slowly exhaling. “Next stop is ours.”

He nodded and gathered his things, following you off the train at the station and up the stairs back into the light of day. Your apartment lay in a building that had been requestioned by the British army, not two blocks from the station, on the second floor. The previous owners had fled in the face of German occupation and left some furnishings which you were using, though more beds were slated for delivery in January with the arrival of further CWACs. Unlocking the door, you led Captain Winters into the foyer, carefully removing your uniform cap to hang by the door.

“Kitchen is on the left, living room overlooks the street, bedrooms and the bathroom are this way.” You led him down a corridor to the room that Lucy had just vacated, retrieving her apartment key from the nightstand. “So you can come-and-go as you please.”

He took it carefully after tucking his garrison cap into his belt, setting his bag on the freshly made bed. “This is extremely kind of you, thank you again.”

Now that you were no longer in public, you licked your lips, feeling as though you owed him a proper explanation. “I considered our accounts balance, Captain, once you helped me retrieve my men. Therefore, I owe you for saving my life.”

Captain Winters eyed you intensely as he registered your use of ‘I’ and ‘my.’

“I’ve seen you wear many different costumes…how close to your real persona is this one?” He asked, looking over your CWAC uniform curiously.

“The closest, honestly, though I don’t feel like I’ve really earned the Sergeant’s stripes, they are necessary to explain my presence so far forward. The war is over for Charlotte, France all-but liberated, yet I still have skills to contribute. And my British accent is sh – shameful.” You corrected yourself with a smirk, recalling his distaste for coarse language, enjoying the twitch of his lips in response. “I’m assisting with translation in the Allied offices here. The delay in relaying them to England is no longer necessary.”

“So, really a Canadian.” He confirmed.

“Yes, and you know my real name, too.” You nodded reassuringly. “But I’m assuming you’d like to see more of Paris than just this apartment?” You laughed and he nodded quickly. “Would you like a guide or –”

The ‘yes’ was out of his mouth before you even had the chance to give him an out and you bowed your head lest he see the smile that pulled from you.

“That is, if you’re free and willing…” He amended, tone sheepish.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who saved me from being crushed by a tank.” You smirked and he chuckled before his eyes widened.

“I still have your knife, back at the base.” He frowned.

You grinned a little, shaking your head. “Good. That’s good.” Echoing his words to you when he realized your hearing had returned. “Keep it. It saw me through a lot of things. I hope it does the same for you.”

He eyed you a moment. “Thank you…for your honesty, and the knife.” He clarified.

“I apologize that I cannot always be honest with you, but I will endeavour to do so as circumstances permit. Now, I’m assuming you haven’t had lunch?”

“Not yet, no.”

“There’s an excellent café not far from here, shall we?” You led him back out through the foyer, snagging your cap on the way by, the pair of you taking a moment on the threshold to secure your uniform cover before you locked the door and headed back outside.

The streets were filled with soldiers on leave, but with his height and bright red hair, it was difficult to lose him in the crowd. Securing a table outside, you walked him through the menu before ordering on his behalf in French.

“Where did you learn to speak it so well?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Oxford.” You swallowed hesitantly as not many men appreciated the fact that you had studied at university, let alone a prestigious school in England. To your great relief he titled his head back and simply laughed.

“Nix would be so jealous to hear you say that…” He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee as it was delivered.

“Lieutenant Nixon?” You clarified, taking the time to add the packet of Saccharin that you had requested to sweeten the bitter liquid.

“He’s a captain now, but yes. A Yale man, but not an Oxford man.”

You laughed in relief, sipping your own beverage once it was slightly more palatable.

“What took you there?”

“Scholarship, and my uncle, my mother’s brother, lived there. The opportunity to go to Europe was difficult to pass up. I began my undergraduate degree in 1938.”

He shook his head, presumably at the timing. “Did you manage to finish?”

You nodded quickly. “Graduated with a major in French, minor in German in the spring of 1942.”

He hummed thoughtfully, the strategic value of those two languages going unspoken in such a crowded space.

“How about yourself?” You prompted as your food arrived, laying your napkin across your lap.

“I went to Franklin & Marshall College in Pennsylvania – definitely not Oxford or Yale. Graduated with an Economics degree in ’41. Tried to get my military service out of the way early but then Pearl Harbor happened and well, here I am…” He shrugged, tucking into his food.

The pair of you spent a good hour, trading questions back and forth between bites of your food, learning about your families, where you had grown up, why you had joined the war effort.

“My uncle was killed during an air raid in London in May of 1941. He’d gone to visit a friend and stayed the night – apparently, they had tried to drink the pub dry.” You shook your head fondly in memory. “The Luftwaffe decided to bomb the neighborhood that night, neither of them even made it into the shelter. I almost quit my studies the next day to join FANY or become a Land Girl or just…do something useful.” You sighed leaning back in your chair as the waitstaff came to collect your empty plates, avoiding Captain Winters’ gaze, though you could feel his eyes on your cheek. “Friend of mine convinced me I could do more good if I finished what I started – that my language skills would be put to good use once I honed them.”

“Sounds like a wise friend.” He replied softly and you turned to him.

“They are. Helped me get where I am today.” You nodded meaningfully, a movement which he mirrored in unspoken understanding. “Anyway, I’m meant to be showing you around.” You forced a smile and summoned the bill, though Captain Winters beat you to punch by laying a large number of francs on the table, not allowing you to pay for your own meal. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He replied, pulling out your chair once he’d received his change.

Leading him along the historic streets you showed him some of the more famous sites, waiting patiently as he picked up a pack of postcards to send home as the sun began to set.

“There’s a popular restaurant just up the street, did you want to try and get a table for dinner?” You offered once he rejoined you, tucking his purchase into his pocket.

“That would be nice, yes.” He nodded, his hand hovering just above your lower back as you navigated your way along the crowded sidewalk to the restaurant.

Placing your name on the waitlist, the pair of you were idling patiently in the foyer when your direct report Major Wilkes stepped out of the dining room, making you stand up straighter. “Good evening, sir.”

He looked over to you and the American Captain standing tall at your side, greeting you in kind. “Enjoying your well-earned rest, Sergeant?” He asked warmly.

“Yes sir, thank you again.”

“You’ve earned it.” He reminded you with a laugh.

“Major Wilkes, may I present Captain Winters of the 101st Airborne.” You introduced the men to one another properly as you recalled your manners.

The two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before Major Wilkes turned back to the maître d,’ murmuring something neither of you could hear. “See you on Tuesday, Sergeant. Enjoy your time in Paris, Captain.”

“Good night, sir.” You smiled, glancing at the Captain before the maître d’ was calling your name to seat you, ahead of several other groups who had been waiting longer.

“Your CO seems to like you.” Captain Winters murmured once you were settled at a table a few rows back from the dancefloor, not too close to the bandstand.

“Major Wilkes is a good man, easy to work for.” You nodded, setting your cap on the empty chair beside you.

“I’m glad. And grateful.” He lifted the menu, and you leaned in once more to walk him through the options, swallowing as he smelled of Brylcreem and aftershave.

Conversation didn’t flow as easily once the band started playing, couples crowding the dancefloor as you enjoyed some delicious yet overpriced food. The Captain seemed to be watching you closely, glancing between you and the dancefloor, until a slow song began to play, and he leaned in. “Would you like to dance?”

Dabbing at the corner of your mouth with your napkin you nodded quickly, heart leaping into your throat as he pulled out your chair to help you stand. You set your hand in his, following him onto the crowded dancefloor as he set one hand on your waist, the other held out to the side in his as he swayed with you to the music. Neither of you were particularly talented dancers, but you could not deny how lovely it felt to be held this close by him. You glanced at him with a shy smile, certain the tips of his ears were pink, though it may have been the dim lighting, before you looked to the side as you nibbled your lip, trying to even out your breathing.

Belatedly you realized that Captain Winters was speaking to you, into your right ear, which had never fully recovered from your roadside escapade in Normandy. It had a habit of being particularly uncooperative in crowded, noisy places such as this. Registering the vibrations of his voice you turned your head quickly to look up at him. “I’m so sorry could you repeat that please?” You asked before offering him your left ear.

After a moment or two of nothing but music you turned back to see him frowning deeply.

“Oh, Captain, please, it’s the only thing, and then only sometimes, not always.” You tried to reassure him, reaching out to smooth the furrow of his brow with your fingertips.

“Please call me Dick.” He replied, leaning towards your left ear as he spoke.

“Alright, Dick.” You exhaled, your heart fluttering erratically as you turned your head to press your lips against his softy.

His feet stopped moving altogether, hand clasping yours tighter as you felt the fingers of his other hand curling into the back of your uniform jacket. His lips pressed closer to yours, drawing a barely audible sigh through your nose, until another couple carelessly bumped into you, jolting you apart. Dick carefully steadied you and you squeezed his hand, leading him back to the table to grab you cap. He flagged down a waiter and, infuriatingly, paid yet again before leading you out in the dim streets out black-out Paris.

“I was trying to save you money, not make you spend it all.” You gently chastised him, almost stepping off the curb in front of a cyclist you did not hear approaching from the right.

His arm quickly slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest just before they zoomed by spewing curses in their wake. “Careful. I already told you it’s my pleasure.” He assured you before offering his arm.

“Thanks, Dick.” You took it slowly, trying not to let your frustration show. You had previously excelled at navigating dark places and now you were forced to rely on the guidance of others. Taking a fortifying breath, you began leading him along the sidewalk. “I thought we’d walk home, the subway didn’t seem to agree with you?” You asked carefully.

“I’d appreciate that.” He replied, keeping an eye out for further obstacles hidden by the shadows of the black out as the pair of you made your way back to the apartment in companionable silence.

“I just need to close the curtains before we turn on the lights, one moment.” You left Dick in the foyer, setting your cap on the hook by the door before tugging the black out curtains closed in each room, turning the lights on as you made your way back to him. “Sorry about that I wasn’t thinking when we left.”

He shook his head softly, watching you quietly from right where you’d asked him to wait. “Do you think it would be all right if I were to take a hot bath tonight?"

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely alright, I’ll get you set up.”

Leading him to the bathroom you set out some towels and the bar of soap, turning to him. “There should be plenty of hot water at this time of night, the boiler will have had time to refill. Anything else you need before I leave you to it?”

His lips quirked into a tentative smile. “Yes, might I kiss you goodnight?”

Your pulse quickened as you tried not to smile like a buffoon. “Please.” Your voice waivered slightly, much to your annoyance, but mercifully it did not seem to deter Dick.

He stepped forward, hands cupping the sides of your face tenderly as he angled your lips to meet his. Gripping his forearms to steady yourself, you came to realize that Dick was a different man when he set his mind to something. You had simply taken him by surprise on the dancefloor. This kiss was altogether more assertive and left you breathless as he pulled back.

“Goodnight.” He smiled gently, nose brushing the hair from your forehead to press his lips to the scar there softly.

“Night.” You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the surge of emotions that unleashed within you, taking a steady breath before you were able to smile dreamily and slip out.

Retiring to your room, you unpinned your hair carefully before sliding into your cotton nightgown, pulling your quilted housecoat overtop and settling onto the double bed left by the apartments previous owners to do some reading while you waited your turn to use the washroom. Fully absorbed in the novel that Lucy had left for you, you were surprised when you noted that over an hour had passed since you had opened your book. Frowning, you slid your bookmark into place before cracking the door open slightly and peering down the hall, startled to see the bathroom door still closed while the door to the other bedroom remained open.

Gnawing on your lower lip you walked to the end of hall, knocking gently on the door. “Dick?” You waited, frown deepening as there was no response. Your main concern that he had fallen asleep in the deep claw-footed tub, at great risk of drowning. Knocking more firmly, you called his name again. “I’m coming in if you don’t answer.” You warned, giving it a slow count to ten before stepping into the humid washroom, careful to keep your eyes well above the waterline.

True to your concern, the man was sound asleep, thankfully with his head bent back over the edge of the tub, a washcloth cushioning his neck. Impressed by the level of comfort he must be feeling to sleep through all the noise you were making, you took a step closer, calling his name yet again. Kneeling beside the tub with your back to his lower body, you focused on his peacefully sleeping face, shaking your head in awe before reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He jolted awake, sending now-tepid water sloshing over the side of the tub and down your housecoat onto the backs of your calves. You let out an involuntary gasp at the temperature shock.

“Aw heck, I’m so sorry I…” His hands quickly dove under the water to cover himself.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you’re ok.” You smiled, waving off his concern and leaned in to kiss his cheek before moving to stand.

“Before you leave uh, could you uh pass the soap?” He’d gone red to the tips of his ears.

You bit the inside of your cheek to smother your grin and fetched it from atop the towel behind you. As you turned back to him, your eyes accidentally fell on the length of his body beneath the water, hands still firmly cupping between his legs. Unable to look away, to think, to move, Dick’s voice brought you back to reality.

“You alright, honey?” He asked softly and your eyes snapped to his face as the term of endearment dripped from his lips.

“More than alright.” You breathed in reply, seized by the need to lay your hands on his pearly white skin smattered in a constellation of freckles. Shrugging out of your housecoat you were left in your ankle-length nightgown with frills of lace at the shoulders. “May I help?” You tilted your head, kneeling at the edge of the tub once more.

He watched you with wide eyes, seeming unable to avert his gaze this time before his adam’s apple bobbed violently at your question. You waited patiently until he gave you one sharp nod, dipping the bar of soap into the water before you began to drag it along his neck and chest, sliding it beneath his dog tags. Their metallic jangle was the loudest sound in the washroom. You took a moment to rinse his skin clean with your other hand before repeating the pattern with his upper arms and abdomen, shifting to the bottom of the tub to do the same with his calves and feet. You did not miss the way his breaths grew heavier, lips parting slightly, his eyes never once leaving your face.

“Can I wash your hands?” You ask, biting your lip as he only offered one as the other tried and failed to hide his erection.

Swallowing thickly, you focused on washing it thoroughly – between each finger and up to his elbow, rinsing the suds from his skin before holding your hand out for the other. He set it in yours boldly, meeting your eyes, no longer feeling the need to hide from you as his clean hand gripped the edge of the tub. Once his second hand was clean you leaned in to press your lips to his, trailing the soap down his abdomen once more before dipping it to his left hip then sweeping it back up to before repeating the motion to his right. His breath shuddered against your lips, and you pulled back to look over his face.

“Ok?” You breathed, throat constricting at his blown pupils, and he nodded violently before sliding a hand to the back of your neck to pull you closer, kissing you hungrily. You traced your fingers along the length of him, reveling in the shiver that wracked his body. Abandoning the bar of soap, you wrapped your hand around him fully, running your tongue along his bottom lip as his mouth fell open with a soft gasp.

It was a noise you soon echoed as his tongue slid forward to meet yours, licking into your mouth teasingly at first before he was confidently dominating the kiss. Bracing your free hand against his shoulder, you began to move your first along his length in earnest, lips curling against his as his knees bent before falling open, sloshing still more water from the tub. You could feel the cotton of your nightgown wicking the water higher along the material, surely become more and more translucent with each bit of moisture, yet you remained undeterred.

Forced to part from his lips to suck in a greedy breath to soothe the ache in your lungs, you experimentally swiped your thumb across the tip of his cock, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as his head fell back with a moan, hips nudging towards your hand needily. Encouraged, you made a point of repeating that motion, paying special attention to the head as you reached the apex of each pull. You watched the way his eyebrows knit together, listened to the pants and breathy grunts, felt further onslaughts of water as his hips bucked to your touch. Your thighs pressed together as you felt your panties grow damp in response, desperate for some friction of your own, but nonetheless thoroughly enjoying the act of pleasuring him.

“Honey, I’m…” He lifted his head to look at you quickly, voice tense, jaw muscles ticking.

You nodded eagerly and his fingers, which had been clinging to the back of your neck this entire time, hauled you in to plant his lips against yours fiercely. You happily swallowed his hoarse shout as his hips surged up into your grip, cock twitching as you felt him release into the now-cold bathwater. Stroking him through his release, you placed gentle kisses across his cheeks before shifting your hand to stroke his side.

“That was…” He sighed, speechless before brushing his lips against yours gratefully, cheeks still flushed.

“I’m glad.” You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against his. “Now come on that water is cold.” You murmured, standing and holding open a towel for him.

He gave you a crooked grin before pulling the plug from the drain and leveraging himself to his feet, stepping onto the rather wet bathmat and taking the towel to wrap around his waist. It was only then he properly noticed how much of your skin he could see through the damp patches of your nightgown. “I splashed you quite a bit, didn’t I. Sorry about that.” He murmured.

“I have another nightgown I can change into, don’t worry about it.” You assured him, reaching for your housecoat, but his arms slid around your waist, pulling you against his still-wet torso, drawing a gasp from your chest.

“Don’t bother.” He muttered before kissing you deeply.

Fingers digging into his biceps you squeaked against his lips as he began to shuffle you backwards, shocked that he was confidently leading you through your own apartment nearly blind. Reaching your bedroom, he looked to you softly, gathering the fabric of your nightgown in his hands. “May I?”

You nodded, licking your kiss-swollen lips, before the flurry of sodden cotton obscured your view. He lay it over your desk chair, turning back to you and exhaling reverently.

“You are so beautiful, honey.”

“Dick…” You whispered shyly in protest, but he shook his head, long fingers cradling your face tenderly to force your eyes to meet his.

“So beautiful.” He repeated, guiding you to lay on the bed.

Sliding on the mattress next to you, his lips began to map the skin on your jaw, body braced on his left arm while his right slid along your collarbone. Delving your fingers into his short ginger locks, you sighed warmly, tilting your head to offer more skin to his exploring mouth. Touch featherlight, his fingertips traced down the swell of your breast, making you arch towards his hand in invitation as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. You rewarded him with a soft moan as he cupped your tender flesh fully, gently kneading the weight of it in his warm palm, your nails brushing against his scalp.

As he reached the hollow of your throat, he darted his tongue out to lap at the skin there, making you writhe sightly beneath him. The contrast of his warm skin and the rough metal of his dog tags pressing against you was making your head swim. The addition of his tongue as he lapped at the supple flesh of your breast had you mewling breathlessly, once again pressing your thighs together to try and assuage the sheer need you felt. His hand slid along your side, progress slowing as his fingertips encountered the long, jagged scar there. It was well-healed by now, but still raised to the touch. He swiped his thumb along it tenderly before his hand moved to your hip, giving a gentle squeeze before skirting down your thigh. Exhaling shakily, you parted your legs for him, the pair of you gasping as his fingers cupped between your thighs.

“Dick.” You whimpered.

“Ok?” He looked to your face quickly and you nodded rapidly, lifting your hips to help him slid your panties down and off your legs.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers returned to trace your folds before carefully parting them. His thumb came to circle your clit, the callous on the edge of his digit working wonders as his index finger dipped into the entrance to your warmth, teasing you.

“Oh my god..sh…” You belatedly caught your curse, not missing the way he chuckled against your shoulder before pressing his lips to your skin fondly. You forced your eyes open to look at him, if a bit blearily, but the smug bastard only replied by sinking his finger fully into you. “Christ!” You moaned richly, completely losing control of your manners, and your volume, as he stroked it along your silken walls before adding another.

Graciously, he pressed his lips to yours to smother any further curses his actions might have drawn from you, and you moaned richly against his tongue as you clung to his shoulders. You barely even noticed the way his dog tags were knocking into your chin, but he insisted on pulling back for a moment to swing them behind his neck before sliding a second finger into you. Your thighs began to tremble as you bucked wildly towards his hand, panting against his lips.

“P..please…” You pleaded, so very close, not wanting him to lose interest in your pleasure as your only other partner had seemed want to do.

“I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you.” He reassured you, the pace of his fingers increasing until your thighs clamped down around his hand. Hastily, he covered your mouth with his as he felt your walls begin to flutter, smothering your wail as your nails dug into his skin slightly.

Chest heaving, you pulled back from his lips to try and catch your breath, body still trembling with small aftershocks of pleasure. Dick gently slid his fingers from your body, your breath hitching in your throat before you smiled at him fondly.

“Good?” He asked softly, smoothing the hair from your face tenderly.

“Very good.” You reassured him, pecking his lips warmly.

They curled against yours in a soft grin before he whispered your name as you tugged the very loose towel from his lips to find his cock fully erect once more.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking to you.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked and he paused a moment before nodding.

“I’ll be right back.” He quickly secured the towel around his waist again, making you chew your lip fondly as he dashed out of the room. He was not gone a full minute before he returned with several individually wrapped paper packets, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Optimistic man.”

He laughed under his breath. “It’s cold tonight, I didn’t want to have to leave this room again.” He explained, shutting the door behind him before shedding the towel and climbing into bed with you.

Working together, you secured the latex sheath over his length before Dick settled between your thighs. He rested his weight on his right forearm beside your head, fingertips stroking your hair as he took his cock in hand. “Ok, honey?”

He checked one last time and your hearth clenched warmly as you reached out to cup his cheek. “Yes.” You reassured him, running your thumb along his lower lip.

He pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb before rolling his hips forward, carefully sinking into your warmth, his fingers, now free of their burden, lacing with yours and pining your hand to the pillow. His jaw hung open as your body welcomed him inch by inch, stretching to envelope him completely until his pelvis nestled snuggly against yours.

“Mhmm!” You keened, rocking up against him eager for him to move as he brought a feeling of completion that you’d never felt before.

His fingers flexed in your grip before he began the push and pull to build another orgasm within you, his grunts and breathy moans blended with words of adoration, all directed into your left ear. The mixture of it all – the pleasure, the care, the emotions – brought tears to your eyes and praise tumbled from your own lips in return.

“So good, Dick.”

“Like an angel, honey.”

“Just like that, yes!”

“Only you can make me feel this good.”

“Oh, Dick I’m…I’m gonna…”

“Yes honey, let go.”

You pressed your face tightly to his neck, your knees hugging his hips tightly as your back bowed with the force your release, an anguished cry of pleasure wrenched from your throat as you clamped down tightly around him. His rich groan followed shortly after as he rocked tightly against you in the throes of his own climax. Pulling from you slowly, he carefully rolled to lay beside you, the pair of you grinning up at the ceiling stupidly for a moment before you rolled onto your side to kiss his cheek.

Collecting the used condom, despite his protests, you padded to the washroom to run through your night routine at last, gratefully sliding into the housecoat to turn out the lights before returning to find him waiting for you beneath the quilt. Dick immediately pulled you into his chest as you slid into the bed and kissed your forehead.

As his fingers pulled at the tie of your housecoat, however, you could not help but laugh. “Really?”

He chuckled in return, pressing a kiss to your jaw before his fingers darted beneath the warm fabric to find the scar on your side. “What happened?” He asked softly and your throat clenched at the concern in his voice.

“Bayonet.” You replied quietly, frowning as his eyes jerked up to meet yours in the low light of the bedside lamp you’d left on. “I was lucky, really.” You smiled fondly at his incredulous look. “He tried firing on me first, but his weapon jammed, and then he got so flustered he barely stuck me.” You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly as you spoke.

“This looks like a little more than barely.” He countered flatly and you kissed him softly.

“I was furious. First mission and I made it all of four days before I got hurt.” You shook your head. “A sympathetic doctor stitched me up and then it was a long way back to England to heal.”

“So, I met you on your…” He prompted, thumb sweeping along your scarred flesh as though he might erase the mark with his touch.

“Second.” You nodded. “And last in a way. I’ll never be able to do those things again with my right ear the way it is…” You grimaced and it was his turn to kiss you reassuringly.

“You’ve done more than enough, honey, more than should have ever been asked of you. And yet you’re still here, in a uniform, helping all the same.”

Pressing your forehead to his you sighed fondly. “Thank you.”

“We should get some sleep.” He murmured, pulling you close into his chest so he could reach with a long arm to turn off the lamp behind you.

It proved difficult to leave his arms for the rest of his time in Paris, though you managed to see to it that you remained fed despite Dick’s efforts to tire you out completely. Not a single condom went to waste. As he lay sleeping in the late afternoon, you took the opportunity to write a letter for him to carry with him – not knowing where he would find himself next, nor when you’d have the chance to see him again. Seized by the radical idea to package it up with some small token, you pried the badge from your cap, hoping the three silver maple leaves would make him think of you. Folding the badge within the letter, you tucked it into the front pocket of his luggage, fully prepared to feign complete astonishment when its absence was noted by Major Wilkes, or whomever noticed first.

Early Tuesday morning, you delivered Dick to Gare du Nord to catch the first train back to Mourmelon-le-Grand, unable to ignore the way he crossed his arms against the chilly north wind that seemed to herald to arrival of winter. Glancing at the drab olive wool scarf dangling around your neck you bit your lip as you reached the platform before sliding it off. Grasping each end, as Dick turned to say goodbye, you carefully slung it over his shoulders.

“Keep warm, Dick.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t take this from you, you’ll freeze.”

“I can get a new one easily.” With your hands still on the ends of the scarf you pulled him in to kiss him softly. “Good luck out there.” You repeated your parting words from Normandy.

His hands rose to cup your cheeks one last time as his eyes traced over the features of your face as if to commit it to memory. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

You nodded quickly, all possible responses congealing into a lump in your throat that made it impossible to speak. The rumble of the approaching train shattered the intensity of the moment and he quickly pressed one final kiss to your forehead before reluctantly stepping back, turning only at the last moment to step into the carriage. You stood rooted to the spot, only able to inhale tiny sips of air lest you shatter into tears, until it disappeared out of sight.

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Read Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers

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