It's been a wild ride this one and it's only going to get better.
Word count; 2,019
Frances
We entered the foyer of 1st Platoon's billets, a room much larger than most of what the men had seen and would see in Germany. It was packed full of soldiers, either playing card games or drinking their lives away with booze. Someone had found a gramophone, and with it a selection of Lale Andersen's records. When we first descended into Germany, many thought it would be worse than France and Belgium, but all it was proving was the opposite.
I followed Liebgott into the chamber, who himself followed Perconte, then Luz and Webster. All three men headed for the middle of the room, to a grand table crammed with glasses and bottles of liqour. They immediately found their own fix, all apart from Joe who searched through five bottles before finding one that granted his taste.
"What's so bad about gin?" I asked with a smile.
"It tastes like crap." He poured some of the whiskey he had selected into the back of his throat. "This, on the other hand, this is lovely."
"My Papa always said whiskey tastes like dirty water."
"What was that?" He smirked, pretending not to hear.
I rolled my eyes, spotting Martin in the corner with Randleman, both waving me over instantly.
"You have some fun, okay?" I craved to move a strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'll be over there."
He couldn't respond, too busy on his drink, but trailed after me with his eyes.
"How much have you had to drink, Sergeant?" I questioned Johnny.
"Not near enough." He grinned. "Where you been, darling?"
"Picking up strays." I looked at Perconte and Webster, both who had been challenged to a round of shots.
"Good someone's doing their job." Denver simpered.
"Shut up, Bull." Johnny scorned.
I looked over Randleman's shoulder, a group of men taking turns wearing blindfolds and consequently launching darts at each other.
"Is that safe?"
Both followed my gaze.
"Honey, I don't think they know what safe is." Bull sipped on his glass of bourbon.
"If only the President knew that these were the paratroopers between him and Hitler." Martin scoffed. "Think he'd have a heart attack."
Johnny gulped down the last of his drink, gesturing for Bull's glass before he excused himself to find more.
Taking his cigar away from his mouth, "Are you watching him?"
I studied his pupils, turning to see where his view sat. Liebgott, alongside many others, were downing their drinks, as if part of a competition to see who could consume the most bottles in a minute.
"Should I be, hon?" I smiled at Bull.
He shrugged. "He'll be fine. I've never once seen him drunk, it's like the alcohol just seeps into his flesh. Doesn't even register it until he passes out."
I recalled the beginning of my time with Easy Company, on the train where he and Heffron - one of his current drinking companions - had drank a beverage from a farmer's girl, and as a result collapsed between the carriages.
"Tell Johnny to watch our platoon, will you?"
"Sure thing." He winked with a smirk, knowing full well his friend was too intoxicated to be burdened with such a responsibility.
I made my way through the various groups of people, some of which had broken out into playful brawls or other explosive activities. When I was close enough, I wrapped my hand around the neck of Joe's bottle, seizing it from his lips. He frowned, booze dripping down onto his chin.
"This is not the same bottle I left you with, hon." I raised a brow.
He rubbed his mouth with the back of his sleeve, looking at Heffron, "No, I think it's the second? Third?"
"Maybe fourth." Heffron snickered, whisking away before Joe could hit him for not keeping it secret.
"Four, huh?" I beamed.
"What? No." He slurred his words slightly. "Maybe."
"Okay, come on, hon, that's enough." I put a palm on the centre of his back.
"Hey, hey-" He argued. "Can I at least take the bottle? It would be such a waste to abandon it."
He looked down through his eyebrows, pouting.
"Are you really giving me that look?"
"I'm giving you that look." He glowered.
I rolled my eyes and he exclaimed, taking back the bottle and skipping off into the corridor that we had arrived from. Though, as I traced his footsteps, he was no-where to be seen. I looked left and right, only for instinct to push me down the hallway and back to the stairs.
"Trying to hide from me won't work." I said, finding him sat on one of the steps, staring at the ceiling.
My voice drew his attention, and he stood up, "Worth the try."
"You're a mess." I extended my hand, finally brushing the hair away from his forehead.
His forearms raised, settling on my shoulders. "That's what I have you for."
"Oh yeah?" I simpered. "Just that?"
"Maybe a few other things." He brushed his nose against mine.
I started to sway, the music still audible from where we stood. He copied my movements, and like that we gently moved back and forth on the carpet, turning slowly to the melody.
"God, I love you, Frances."
"Is that the whiskey talking?" I chuckled.
He shook his head, pressing his temple to mine. "I'd say a lot more shitty things if it was."
I could feel the rough stubble of his cheek against my skin, his breaths rush past my ear. I could imagine the taste of cheap tobacco and alcohol on his lips.
"Can you promise me something?"
He hummed.
"Promise me that you will live longer than me." I inclined my head to meet his eyes. "So that I'll never have to face this world without you by my side."
He nodded lightly, "I can do that."
"You promise?"
He reached for one of my hands, pressing it flat against his chest so I could feel his quickening heart beat. "I promise."
Our lips met delicately, and for once I quivered at the contact. What we had had always been real but this was different. It was honest and straight-forward, somewhat brutal.
"You're trembling." He muttered.
"You just feel so real."
He kissed me again, more passionately, vividly. He tasted exactly how I thought he would, of vices I was sworn off of.
His hand slipped into mine, "Come."
We ascended the corridor behind the stairs, stopping at a door on the left. Out of caution, he knocked his knuckles on the threshold before turning the handle, waltzing inside. The chamber was slightly smaller than the previous one, a dark green curtain covering the back wall, a bed placed strategically in front of it with tables and lamps either side.
He shut the door, pressing me against it as our mouths collided. His free hand cupped my cheek, feeling my jawbone, the other still clasping onto the bottle. For a second, he tore himself away.
"I'm not in my right mind, Frances." He said huskily. "I don't want you to think that this is who I am."
"I know who you are." I touched his temple with my thumb.
"And you're sure you want me?"
"I love you, Joseph." I breathed. "Long before I even knew it, I have loved you."
He smiled warmly, "Really?"
I nodded, grazing my lips near his ear, "Now shut up and fuck me."
He took a swig from his whiskey, tossing the bottle on the floor before kissing me again, putting almost all of his weight on me. I tugged at the back of his shirt, and in response he pulled it off, throwing it on top of the bottle on the carpet. Like before, I grabbed onto his dogtags, yanking him back to my lips. Meanwhile, he began to unbutton my shirt, dragging it over my shoulders with my jacket. I kicked off my boots and trousers.
We moved backwards. I ripped away from him, pushing him gently onto the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes dark. I could see in his stare that he hadn't done it like this before; neither had I. My hands crawled to my back, unleasing the bind of my bra. He stared at me for a while, only to drift back into reality and unbuckle his belt. I slid off my underwear. Each second, my heart quickened, pounding against my ribcage.
I knelt on the bed, swinging a leg over him so I rested on his thighs. God, he was beautiful. From the scars of ancient wounds, to the small pieces of hair on his chest. I leant forward, pressing my chest to his, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his ears, his collarbone. He pulled my hair out of its bun, allowing it to flow over him as his fingers dug into my scalp.
"I need you, Frances." He murmured.
I smiled, dragging my palms along his torso as I sat upright. We stared at each other, almost as a final confirmation. At that, I sat down on him, gasping lighly at the pressure. He grunted, glancing at where our bodies had met, and I shifted, moaning softly as he filled me. I began a rhythm, moving up and down slowly, softly, cautiously. His hands latched onto my hips, deepening every motion. I raked my hands through my hair, already burning with passion.
My head began to mellow, and he noticed immediately. In one swift movement, he twisted us both so that my back was on the bed, continuing at the pace I had set, almost wary to change, to let this end. I hooked my arm around his neck, trying not to moan with each thrust.
"Harder." I whispered.
He exhaled, silently praying for his body not to fail him; months had passed since his wounds were imprinted on his flesh, yet some parts were still more fragile than others. Nevertheless, he did as I asked.
"Fuck." He mumbled.
I could tell he wanted to go faster, "Faster."
He obliged instantaneously.
"Fuck, Frances."
"It's okay." I echoed.
His breaths were fast and laboured, almost rugged.
"Do it."
I dug my fingers into his back as we released ourselves. When he steadied, he slipped out of me, falling onto his back, chest heaving.
"Fuck, Frances." He picked up my hand, kissing my knuckles.
I rolled over, wrapping my leg over his abdomen. He pulled me closer, letting my head rest on his chest, arm crawling around my back, squeezing my skin. I circled my finger around his stomach, stopping at a healed bullet wound.
"All for nothing, wasn't it?" He smirked. "You still found your way back to me."
"Always."
He inhaled deeply, "Can you promise me something?"
I chuckled at his repetition of my question from earlier.
"Promise me that you'll always come back." He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "That no matter some of the shit I do, you'll find your way back to me."
I sat up to regard him, "I can do that."
He sat up too, pecking my nose. I smiled, standing up to find my clothes. He pulled his trousers back up from his knees, perching at the end of the bed as he found a cigarette. I bent over to pick up my underwear.
"God, I love that."
I turned around. He lit his cigarette, view returning to mine.
"You." He answered my quizzical look. "Naked, bending over in front of me."
I rolled my eyes, putting my underwear on a nearby chest of drawers as I walked back towards him. He parted his legs so I could stand between them, his eyes gazing up at mine in awe. I raked my hands through his hair and he took his burn away from his lips, resting his forehead on my bare stomach. He kissed just above my belly button, then beneath my right nipple and over to my left.
"You're so damn gorgeous, Frances." He looked up at me.
"Yeah?" I beamed.
"Yeah." He smiled genuinely.