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miggleverse · 3 days ago

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FaeEoin! Part 4.

The smut just didn't work out in this part, unfortunately. However there is much pining and Paddy and Eoin finally reuniting. As always, comments and feedback are much appreciated!

Ultimately, Paddy had little time to dwell on this newfound revelation. Stirling and Lewes seemed determined to form this new regiment, and were equally as determined to have Paddy in it as Paddy was determined to have no part in it. Unfortunately for him, a clash with his CO in Heliopolis and another stint in prison left him little choice but to go along with it, dreams of Burma being left to rot in that cell. Still, he was glad to leave behind the hustle and bustle of Cairo for the desolation that was Kabrit, the stark and wild nature of the desert feeling more familiar than the cramped urbanity behind them, most humans favoured. The wilderness of the sands reminded him in some gut-wrenching way of Eoin, of that peaceful glade he left behind so many miles away. Here, he felt closer to the fae than at any point since the war started, loving and hating that fact simultaneously.

Settling into life in the newly formed Special Air Service was relatively easy – if you overlooked the scorching desert heat, Lewes’ twenty-mile hikes and the near lack of water. The lads Stirling recruited were a solid bunch, all human as far as Paddy could tell, although he had his suspicions about young Cooper, who looked at him with eyes a little too sprite like and a grin little too bloodthirsty; but overall, a decent lad when he wasn’t arguing the toss with Reg. Paddy also tried to overlook the other oddities of the desert, not the natural ones like the shining mirages that you could never quite get close enough to. No, it was the movement of creatures in the corner of his eye, too camouflaged to be seen head on, that often scaled the walls of their encampment that Paddy tried to ignore. Or the wind that became so shrill and piercing, it was like a screaming banshee clawing at the fabric of the tents – Stirling put the inevitable tears down to cheap quality and refused to say any more about it.

Some of the men joked a place like this had a mind of its own, let loose to play God on a whim. Paddy wasn’t sure how literally to take that. Either way, he wasn’t fussed, the desert had been as kind as a place like this could be. It also helped that he knew he was a little more protected than most, making him a little more reckless than the rest.

It was perhaps because of all this that the dreams started. Time had never quite smoothed the gap in Paddy’s heart, and out here he missed Eoin with a fierceness that left him with a burn in his eyes, throat tight with an emotion he refused to name. This longing must have transcended his waking state, causing dreams so vivid he could barely tell one from the other. Sometimes in his dreaming, he went to Ireland; other times, he would stay right here in his cramped tent. But Eoin was always a constant feature, welcoming Paddy into the solace of his arms, offering a night’s reprieve from harsh days.

The cot was straining under the weight, not built for taking two fully grown men. But Paddy ignored the creaking, more focused on entwining himself with Eoin as much as possible. Legs wove together while hands sought each other under thin blankets. Shifting to settle his head on Eoin’s chest, Paddy allowed himself to breathe, hoping he would still remember the feel of elegant hands running through his hair and down his back in languid strokes, or the thrum of the other’s heartbeat underneath him. Nuzzling into the sand-stained vest – for his mind, ever the creative, had conjured his fae as a fellow soldier – snatches of verse leapt unbidden into his dream self and out onto his tongue, only to be swallowed by the soft fabric surrounding him,

“Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep, To soothe thy rest till morning's light, And angels round thee vigil keep.” [1]

“What was that?” Turning to look up at Eoin, Paddy drank in the sight of him,

“is this real, or have I finally gone as mad as everyone says I am,”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Aye, I do. I fear I am becoming a coward with the wanting”

Eoin adjusted his grip, hugging Paddy tighter to him, as if he could collapse the two and make them one, whispering into the blond strands of hair, "Then it’s real love, and you are no coward for wanting it so. I am with you.”

“And will you stay?” That felt too vulnerable, too exposing. But Paddy was desperate not to lose the scraps of Eoin he could get, even if he couldn’t tell whether they were dragged from the depths of his mind, or part of the wider net Eoin had cast over him.

“Of course, Paddy, it’s us two, yeah, together”

Those dreams were always the hardest to wake from, in his bleary-eyed state adjusting to the bright light from outside, discovering no arms curled around him, no smiley-eyed fae to whisper to. But still Paddy’s body had pushed him to the edge of the cot, as if making space for a person not there, or how the pillow would be indented as if two had slept on it. Other times he would wake, twisting and sweating in his blankets, phantom touches and filthy promises fading in the light of day, leaving him with a raging hard-on and the object of his desires long gone. The dreams carried him through the training of the desert, through that disastrous first jump – Eoin was not impressed when Paddy relayed tales of that particular stunt, muttering something about humans and recklessness and waste, through all the missions after that.

Closer to home, in Sicily, they got worse. Eoin started bleeding out of Paddy’s mind into broad daylight. He caught flashes of him in the crowds of men, his dark curls gelled and gleaming in the Mediterranean sun. Paddy could hear his laugh in the wind as he walked amongst them, but always beside him when the fighting got tough, which was nearly always now because the war had become more vicious than the days in the desert. Depending on how existential he got, Paddy would see it as a haunting, a stalking, the not-quite-real-but-not-quite-imagined Eoin following him all over Europe, slowly chivvying back to his realm. He knew Almonds was worried about him, had walked into Paddy mid-conversation with seemingly no one too many times. Reg definitely had, but he was halfway to losing his mind and didn’t pay much attention. In fact, all of the men were slowly unravelling in one way or another as they pushed into Italy, so really a little talking into thin air was easily chalked up to war fatigue. That’s what Paddy told himself anyway, safe in the knowledge that no one around it was mad enough yet to bring it up with him directly.

Still, this not-Eoin, this half-shade of the vibrant fae was Paddy’s balm and torment from the intensity of warfare, balm in the way he held Paddy at night, whispering sweet reassurances, holding him close. Torture because his touch left no mark on Paddy, no heat emanated from his body, only making him hunger for the one he left back in Ireland. He could not decide if he wanted death as release from this seemingly eternal carousel of a horse race, or to receive the tiny slip of paper which would send all the men back home for a brief respite.

After Termoli, Paddy was granted one of those wishes.

It was on the boat that the not-Eoin disappeared and the restlessness started: itchy skin, tense muscles, heart pounding; like the start of a mission, except this time there were no Germans to shoot or partisans to grind his teeth against. It was just him against his own writhing, wanting to need to see Eoin again, finally rearing its vulnerable head after being denied for so long, turning Paddy into a snarling dog that could only be soothed by its master. The men gave him a wide berth as he paced the small storage space he had commandeered for himself, his body ceaselessly searching for the source of its heartache.

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Interlude: A fae perspective

Eoin was doing the usual rounds of his forest, winding through well-worn paths, careful to not tread on the many roots and weeds that had claimed them over the last two years – the forest had not quite forgiven him for Paddy’s absence, still mourning the loss of Eoin’s shining sun. The fog was now a near-permanent feature on the lake, seeping into the surrounding vegetation, as if trying to cocoon the realm and its king in this time of loss. Little life now stirred amongst the once vibrant branches, unable to stand the atmosphere of melancholy. Eoin walked without seeing this change, the isolation now an unwilling bedfellow, wondering when his wait would end.

Turning into the once-sunny glade, Eoin was greeted with the brisk dancing of a winter breeze. Normal, except for the fact that winter had never penetrated his land, and he was not so far gone it ever would. No, this chimed in his ear whispers of Mediterranean shores, the soft sway of the channel, and the boom of a beloved Belfast laugh.

Ah, he thought. It has.

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Paddy had never been so glad to see home in his life; the sleepy street he had so longed to get away from now seemed like the greatest luxury in the world. The screams, however, had followed him here, pushing and pulling him along the road, until he was practically running the familiar route to the forest. The trees seemed to pull him along, branches receding in the distance only to create a wall at his back. Paddy let them, for once, eager to be led to a place where he would find his solace.

Was Paddy a coward? To want to run from the screams he helped create, to want to succumb to the mercy of his benevolent fae? He felt too haunted, too bloodstained for any of it.

But he was never any good at holding back from his wants, bursting into the glade of happy memories only to find…no Eoin? Where was he, where was he? Paddy whipped round frantically, heart in his throat and a cold, ugly emotion slithering into his stomach. Where was his fae? Where was his lovely one? Scanning the rows of forest around him he could make out no curly hair; could see no eyes gleaming down at him. no no no no no no. This was all wrong. Eoin was meant to be here. Bereft, he stumbled over the standing stone, curling around its mossy base, pressing against the cold surface in any attempt to get close to any source of the man he had missed so terribly the last two years.

It was like this that sleep finally found him, and Paddy succumbed. Unmindful of the fact he had prostrated himself at the foot of Eoin’s altar like the most tempting offer.

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Eoin watched as his human rested, cuddled at the base of his stone. Finally, he was here! And what a perfect gift he had made of himself! better than anything Eoin could have asked for. Now, it was time to take him home.

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Verses from 'Good-Night' by Paul Lawrence-Dunbar

tagging: @leftoversl1ce

#sas rogue heroes #sas rh fic #sas rh #sas rh au #eoin mcgonigal #paddy mayne #paddy x eoin #eoin x paddy #paddon #paddyeoin #sas rogue heroes fic #au fic

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miggleverse · 18 days ago

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PaddyEoin AU Idea:

Supernatural elements. Still set in Ireland before, during and after the events of SAS. Eoin as a nature fae whose territory encompasses the misty lake and surrounding forest that Paddy sometimes goes to when he needs a break from town.

Anyway, cut to Paddy stumbling across a half-hidden, moss ridden standing stone set deep in a glade he was sure definitely wasn’t there when walking to the lake in the morning. even before the war not being a particularly religious man, but enough of a poet to know when to tread carefully he leaves some of the fish from his earlier catch at the base and hopes he’ll wake up tomorrow in one piece – the beings attached to sudden springing alters can be a tricky lot. He goes home, goes to the pub and by the end of the night the experience is firmly out his head.

It remains that way the next time he winds through the wood on his next fishing excursion, muttering to himself trying to remember some Tennyson that won’t leave him alone

‘’ta for the trout, not many leave things when they find my stone.’’ All poetry momentarily forgotten Paddy whipped round, he was back in that glade again and standing in front of the cracked stone was the most waif-like young man paddy had ever seen. Unruly, dark curls did nothing to hide the tips of too long ears with his mouth pulled into a small, amused smile.

Recovering himself, ‘’and who the fuck are you?’’ The man’s long neck bobbed as he barked out a laugh, slightly too sharp teeth catching the sun before turning dark eyes back to Paddy

‘’you humans have called me many names, I forget most but I quite like Eoin. Ah I didn’t mean to startle you, was curious as to who left me a gift.’’

Ah fuck, he was a fae.

One of the high ones if his appearance was anything to go by, they were known to be beautiful. And the man before Paddy was that word made flesh and bone, standing before him like everything he was told not to want.

A shiver went through him as those eyes raked up and down, assessing, and Paddy felt not the familiar urge to rail against it, instead submitting himself to the creature’s examination. Whatever Eoin found caused a slow spreading smile, eyes bright and happy he pushed himself off the stone and reached a long-limbed arm out as if in greeting,

‘’will you give me your name then?’’

Part 2

#wow look at me my first piece of writing #trust me there's loads more where this came from #throwing this out into the void and hoping it reaches people #eoin the most beautiful boy in the SAS agenda #themes of master/dog #ten guesses as to who's who #sas rogue heroes #paddy x eoin #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #paddon #paddyeoin #sas rh fic #eoin x paddy #my writing

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