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He can’t say he’s surprised when Floyd Talbert comes storming up to his billet’s balcony, demanding to know what all the noise is about. Gordy Carson chuckles under his breath next to him in the pleasantly warm afternoon as their first sergeant chews them out for improper use of firearms and gross negligence of noise orders; Speirs offers lackadaisical apologies, the feathering of vintage wine in his veins coloring the interaction humorous and dizzy.
Talbert’s still ranting, something about responsibility and good examples. He sounds like Winters, Speirs thinks to himself, and can’t stifle the snort that rises up his throat when he recalls how, until he was promoted to battalion, Talbert was for all intents and purposes the man’s shadow.
He knows Talbert doesn’t like him. He knows that he’d rather be following Winters, but the divine providence of the US Army has dictated that he is now Speirs’ lead NCO.
And as Easy’s CO, as an officer, he’s meant to take care of his NCOs. So as Talbert runs his breath out at them, Speirs studies him.
He looks older; they all do. But his first sergeant in particular looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, even in peaceful and sunny Austria. Speirs supposes that he’s been running around mad since they got here, trying his damndest to keep their men from killing themselves and each other in stupid accidents born of too much booze and too much time.
He recalls how wound up and frustrated Tab had been upon his return to the company after Foy. Based solely upon stories about him from the enlisted men and the consistently high praise he accrues from Winters, Speirs figures he was mostly upset at himself for missing arguably the worst part of the unit’s offensive thus far. Speirs can admire that sort of dedication to duty, the devotion to the company that he wears on his sleeve infinitely more blatant than his chevrons. He can also admire the restraint Talbert had shown after he recovered from his oft-laughed about ‘illness’; word was he resolved to quit his characteristic skirt-chasing and double down on keeping the rest of Easy Company alive to see the end of the war once he rejoined them on the other side of Bastogne.
He supposes it would have been an easy vow to make, given the general lack of friendly civilians and available nurses, as well as his newly assigned responsibilities as first sergeant.
All Speirs can think of the entire situation now is that it means that Talbert hasn’t been laid in nigh-on four months. It’s rather obvious, too, he ponders to himself, and interrupts his tirade:
“Carson, you’re dismissed,” he waves at the door. Talbert’s face contorts in disbelief.
“Yessir,” Carson snaps a salute and hightails it out of the building. Speirs follows him as far as the door, which brings him shoulder to shoulder with Talbert. He can feel his simmering frustration from beside him.
This would be so much easier if you could take a breath and realize that no one will ever live up to Winters as a CO, he thinks to himself as he yanks the wooden panels shut and flicks the lock. A cloak of darkness falls over the room as the only point of light is shuttered, curtains already drawn against the bright afternoon.
“What are you—”
“You need to relax,” Speirs says, voice level and no-nonsense as he stands in front of him, resolved.
“And you need to— fuck—”
He cuts himself off with a choked gasp, because Speirs has taken him by the shoulders and pinned him to the door.
His eyes are wide in the dark, flush high on his cheeks. His throat bobs as he swallows, and Speirs follows the deceptively delicate motion with his eyes. Talbert doesn’t move a muscle, so he crowds closer.
“Sir—”
“Hush.”
He slots a leg between Talbert’s, flexing his thigh up to press against his front. He’s nearly surprised to find that he’s already hard, but he supposes the man’s nickname is probably fitting.
Tab arches against him, eyes screwed shut as he hisses a breath through his teeth. “Fuck, sir—”
Speirs just presses harder. Tab lets out a high moan, and Speirs traps the tail end of it behind a swift palm. His eyes shoot back open, and lock with Speirs’ as he fixes him with an intent glare.
“You want Carson to come wandering back in here?” he murmurs into Talbert’s ear, marking the shiver that runs through his body as his breath skates over the side of his face.
“Sir, you’re drunk, what are we—”
“Not drunk enough to miss how wound up you are, Sergeant,” Speirs promises. “Officers are meant to take care of their NCOs, and I can’t have you walking around like a live wire.”
Tab guffaws. “Well, maybe if our CO wasn’t violating his own noise ordinance—”
He chokes himself off with a decidedly humiliating whimper as Speirs pushes harder between his legs and presses insistent fingers at his lips.
“Be quiet, Talbert,” he orders in an undertone, bracing his thumb hard against his cheek and sweeping the pad of his index finger along the inside of his lower lip. Tab merely nods, a slow and slight motion hindered by the grip Speirs has on his face.
Their eye contact holds, and Speirs thinks he detects just a slight bit of hesitancy in Talbert’s gaze but it vanishes when his eyes flutter shut, groaning against Speirs’ hand and grinding down harder against his thigh. Speirs hums, pleased with the way it sets Tab writhing even more against him.
“Awfully eager, aren’t you?” he teases, and allows himself a smirk as Tab gasps again despite himself and glares at him.
The unvoiced threat is an empty one; he’s completely stiff against him and makes no movement to get away, and when Speirs pushes his fingers into his mouth he opens up immediately, allowing him to stroke them agonizingly slow along his teeth, his tongue, the insides of his cheeks. Tab meets him eagerly, closing his lips around the digits and sucking lightly, licking at them with a single-minded focus that has Speirs watching his face very closely, marking every detail of his expression with keen interest. He’s never seen him anywhere near like this before; he doubts anyone really has.
Talbert goes limp and pliant against him, making a pretty noise high in his throat as Speirs pins him firmer to the door. He’s nearly holding him upright by now, supporting his boneless form with the thigh wedged between his legs and the hand not slicking itself with his saliva braced against his shoulder. He arches up into Speirs as he presses closer, and lets out a moan that’s all but pornographic and far too loud.
Speirs huffs. He wrenches his fingers from his mouth and claps his palm over it instead.
“You need to be quiet,” he hisses into his ear. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” he gasps when Speirs removes his hand. “Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Good,” and he slips his fingers back into his mouth. His chest heaves against Speirs as he relaxes again, and he takes that as his cue to move things along. He doesn’t even think Tab realizes he’s removed the arm from his shoulder, as absorbed as he is with the hand in his mouth. A blaze of wicked thrill shoots up Speirs’ spine when he slips his hand beneath the waistband of Tab’s ODs and is rewarded with a muffled whine, his hips bucking forward into him.
“Fuck,” Tab chokes out around his fingers, and he drops his head back against the door. It makes a dull thud, and Speirs’ hand follows him to keep his mouth occupied. He trails the fingers on both hands deeper, one stroking down his throat and the other pressing at the hard line of his cock. Tab whimpers again but takes both admirably, and Speirs is pleased to find that aptly-nicknamed Bunny has no gag reflex to contend with.
The things you must’ve gotten up to, he wonders idly to himself as he withdraws his hand from Talbert’s pants, suppresses the answering whine with his fingers, and thumbs open his fly. He works his cock free, and swaps his hands, grabbing his face with his dry fingers to muffle his keening, and using the spit he’s had slicked thoroughly onto his others to his advantage to stroke a slow pace up his length.
The moans he gets for his efforts, even muffled behind a palm, make Speirs’ own cock stir. He ignores it.
He pumps his hand between them as he presses closer, allowing Tab to buck up into his grip and continue grinding down on his thigh in tandem, like he can’t decide which he wants more. Speirs just keeps stroking him, slow and steady, and fucks his fingers into his mouth while he huffs little gasps and whimpers.
The rhythm of Tab’s hips begins to pick up pace, rocking frantically against him as he touches him, and the sounds he allows through his fingers get higher and needier.
A little more, Speirs coaxes wordlessly, and when Tab is clutching at the front of his jacket he pulls his hand off of his cock entirely.
He whines. Speirs keeps most of it in his throat.
“What are you—” he pleads around his fingers, eyes big and dark as they search his face. He keeps his expression neutral and his hand in Tab’s mouth, and pins his hips to the door with his free hand and his leg. Tab writhes, searching for purchase and friction. Speirs doesn’t allow him to find it.
“Please,” he whispers, heaving. “C’mon, please…”
“What do you want, Bunny?” Speirs dips his head and lows directly into his ear. He keeps him still against the door and allows himself to feel pleased at the shiver he pulls from his first sergeant. He pulls all but his index finger from his mouth, which he runs along the inside of his bottom lip teasingly slow.
“I want— fuck, sir, please, I want—”
“This?” he grasps the base of his cock and squeezes, just slightly, and snaps his palm over Talbert’s lips when he makes to scream.
A small, vicious part of him wants to let him scream. Wants to make him scream. Wants to take him apart slow and thorough and not give a fuck who hears them; but he also knows that that part of him is not fit for the ETO and so he buries it.
“Yes yes yes,” Tab’s wheezing under his hand, and so he picks his motion back up both at his thighs and at his mouth.
He continues to huff and whine around his fingers, twisting his hips in search of greater friction as Speirs keeps a tightly reined pace. He tries to tune out the choked little noises he’s making, tries to ignore the way his lean frame writhing against him makes his own cock strain in interest, in favor of paying very close attention to the rhythm of Talbert’s body as he works back up to the threshold of orgasm.
Not letting you off the hook just yet, he silently promises, and pulls his hand from his cock for a second time when his rutting begins to get especially frantic.
He tries to chase him, thrusting up insistently at his hand and mewling in a way that Speirs is sure is entirely unconscious. Speirs merely hooks his fingers around the belt loops in his trousers, safely out of range, and forces his head back harder against the door with the fingers in his mouth.
“I’m going to make this last for you,” he utters into his ear, and recalibrates his grip on his hips and face to pin him more firmly as he wriggles with renewed vigor and chokes a muffled sob. “I want you completely wrung out by the time we’re finished.”
He doesn’t allow Tab space to reply; the way his expression crumples, shining eyes wordlessly pleading with him before they cast up to the ceiling and squeeze shut, tells him everything he needs to know. That, and the way he still cants his hips into him, trying to grind down harder on the thigh still slotted between his legs.
Speirs keeps him still, measuring the depth of his panting breaths and letting him work himself down. When he seems ready for more, he slips his hand back over his cock and picks his motion back up.
By the sixth time Speirs pulls off of him Talbert is trembling against him, keening and begging incoherently where he’s pinned between him and the wall. His lashes are beaded with tears, fluttering open and shut as he casts his unseeing gaze around the room. Speirs stokes the satisfied feeling in his own belly as he holds his first sergeant upright and traces the planes of his face, wiping away tear tracks and thumbing at his lip while he listens to him whimper into the sliver of space between them.
“I’ve got you, Bunny,” he soothes, and wonders if maybe he’s gone too far. But the lines of his body are boneless and pliant against him, free of the tension he’d carried into the room earlier as if it were the only thing keeping him moving.
And maybe it was, Speirs muses. Look at him now.
He has to admit he’s impressed. He can’t imagine he’d be particularly conscious at this point, had he been in Tab’s shoes.
“Alright, alright,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
He eases them both to the floor, lingering just slightly as he slips his fingers free of his mouth. Tab groans softly as he settles, squirming weakly slumped into him until Speirs gets a hand on cock. He doesn’t draw it out this final time, just gives him the pressure and speed he knows he’s looking for as Tab whines piteously into his neck and comes, muffling his cries against the fabric of Speirs’ collar.
They sit there for a moment, side by side and silent against the door as Tab pants. Speirs shrugs out of his uniform jacket, wiping the mess Tab’s made of himself with it and casting it off into the darkness of the room. He’ll get it later.
“Better?” he lows into the quiet. Tab is motionless next to him save for his swiftly calming breathing, and Speirs would have thought he’d fallen asleep if not for the hoarse whisper he responds with:
“Yeah,” he croaks, and when Speirs turns to study his face his eyes are shut.
Remember that next time you want to bitch at me, he thinks wryly to himself. He doesn’t say it out loud.
He lets himself sit for a minute longer, and then draws himself to his feet. He undoes the lock and pulls the door free of Tab’s weight open just far enough to slip through into the hallway, and shuts it behind him.
He’s idly aware of his own persistent erection, the sensation buried beneath the general discipline he’s instilled in himself since he was a teenager, noticing things about the other boys that shouldn’t be noticed, and the focus he had narrowed on his first sergeant. He ambles through the house, locates the bathroom, and makes quick work of himself with the memory of Talbert against him, writhing and moaning with Speirs’ fingers stroking into the slick warmth of his mouth.
Wonder what else I could do with that mouth, he muses to himself, and snorts a laugh at the folly of the train of thought. He imagines the chances of Talbert letting him near him again, much less like that, are slim to none.
Carson greets him when he finally emerges onto the street, gait casual and eyes squinted against the afternoon sun.
“We off the hook?” he jokes as he falls into step beside him. Speirs can’t help his scoff, or his smile.
“Yeah, we’re off the hook.”