#babelieb

[hellofanidea]

45. leather belt with a silver buckle for babelieb

NSFW below the cut because I did in fact think about my rarepair fucking on the floor for too long

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The first time they screw, more than just hurried hands and mouths, is in a motel just outside of Philadelphia. They don't plan it, both exhausted from the last three days - from driving and not sleeping and the fight Babe had with his folks and his sisters and Bill as he bundled his shit into Joe's car.

They've gotten a twin room, ostensibly to save money but mostly to stay in each other's sight at all times, and lingering touches turn to kisses, turn to Joe pushing Babe against a wall and grinding a thigh between his legs as he sucks hickeys into his collarbone.

"Jesus, Joe, Jesus Christ," is all Babe can say, his hands refusing to cooperate as he grabs at him. Joe's still dressed where Babe is just in his shorts, fresh from the shower and ready to sleep, and his fingertips keep sliding off the fabric of Joe's shirt. "Joe, fuck-"

"Thought you missed me?" Joe pants slyly. Babe makes a particularly inarticulate noise and gropes down Joe's front to get at his slacks, at the belt keeping them up around his bony hips. The buckle is almost bitingly cold, but he persists, grabs at Joe's erection below it as he slides the leather free. "Fu-uck, Babe-"

They don't move apart more than a handful of inches as they strip Joe of his layers and rid Babe of his boxers. They barely make it to one of the beds.

"So pretty," Joe mumbles, between smearing kisses anywhere he can reach and fumbling with the lube he's magicked up from a pocket or bag or could have summoned out of thin air for all that Babe cares. "My pretty baby..."

He's being so much sweeter than the normal filth he would pour into Babe's ear in haylofts and foxholes, and it does something funny to his insides, makes him writhe all the more desperately against him.

The people next door can probably hear them, know exactly what they're doing, but fuck them, Babe thinks viciously, fuck them, he's owed this, they're both owed this. Let them know, let them see them emerge tomorrow and think whatever they want, because they aren't worth the energy it would take for Babe to drag himself away from Joe again.

Restraint is for other people. It's for people who haven't jumped out of planes and fired machine guns and seen their friends bleed in the snow like animals. It's for people who know how to move on without feeling like they've left most of themselves behind.

And then Joe is pushing his fingers in, one at a time. There's more pain than pleasure at first, but Babe just breathes through it, hooking one leg up and over Joe's back. He bites more than kisses at Joe's mouth until the intrusion hits just right and he's keening, scratching down his shoulders, rocking into the sensation.

It makes Joe groan like he's the one being fucked open. He's smearing precum onto Babe's hip, and Babe twists his body to give him some friction.

"If I go off now," warns Joe. "It's gonna take a minute for me to get in you."

That makes Babe laugh, and he cants his hips again so he can watch Joe grunt and curse. In revenge, Joe crooks his fingers hard and mean in a way that sends pleasure shooting through Babe so violently he shudders, spine arching off of the mattress in a curve he didn't know he could make. Joe laughs, then, and licks into Babe's gasping mouth.

"Think I could get you off like this, huh, sweetheart?" And there's the sharper teasing Babe remembers. "Just like this, then screw you when you're all fucked-out and easy for me?"

"Jesus, Joe, don't," Babe whines, even though the thought has his dick twitching eagerly.

"Yeah, okay, maybe next time," Joe acquiesces.

Next time. Babe arches again, squeezing his eyes shut at the wave of something that travels through him at the thought. They had never had a guaranteed next time before. Not even after V-J Day. Next time, and the time after, and the time after-

He shoots off before he can even warn Joe, his whole body locking up tight and then completely unraveling. There's a shout ringing in his ears that he thinks is Joe's name bouncing off of the walls of the motel room.

"Fuck, there you go, that's it, show me how you like it-"

The fingers in him curl into that perfect spot again and again until Babe's leg is twitching with the aftershocks. His tongue feels too heavy to form words, but the pitch of his noises must turn sour, because Joe pulls out gently, keeps his legs spread around him but bending over Babe to press soft, open mouthed, kisses to his neck and shoulders.

He's still talking, too quietly for Babe to make out the words, but the vibrations against his skin are nice, soothing, help his mind refocus from how hard his orgasm crashed into him. With the tips of his fingers still tingling with static, Babe moves clumsy hands from where they'd fallen against the mattress to Joe's back, petting at him weakly, feeling the jut of his vertebrae and the thin sheen of sweat building on his skin.

"Alright, Babe, I gotcha, I gotcha, that's it, honey," Joe is cooing, the words once again making sense to Babe's ears. He laughs, a blissed out, disbelieving noise, and Joe lifts his head to give him a wicked grin. "Okay, so maybe we don't leave it to next time, huh?"

[hellofanidea]

Number 8! BoB ship of your choice!

No. 8 - Loose change and headlights, Babe/Liebgott

Babe didn't know how long he'd been walking. Long enough for the last stretches of sunlight to dip and fade, the warm orange of the summer evening giving way to a vast swathe of black overhead. Long enough for the dimes in his clenched fist to go body-warm and sweaty in the pocket of his jacket.

There was no real direction to it, just a striding pace away. Away from the house, the street, the neighborhood, he grew up in. Away from all of the places he couldn't help but fear he had grown out of.

That was unfair.

That made him sound like he had gotten too big for them. In reality, he had shrunk, under the weight of an MG and a parachute harness, and three years of being steadily worn down by the worst of what humanity had to offer. Even his rosary felt heavy, bending his neck and hunching his back. He had taken his dog tags off the second he stepped foot back in his mother's kitchen, but he still thought he felt them bouncing against his chest sometimes too, the thin metal dragging him down.

There was a phone booth on the next corner his feet took him, and Babe finally stopped. It took him a moment to come back to himself, to force his body to remember him and make it open the door and step in.

Then the coins, sticky from his palm. They slid in one after the other, an almost unreasonable amount. He could have made it a collect, but that meant trusting the other end would accept it, and Babe didn't have the heart for that risk tonight. Besides, dropping the cost of a long distance call out of the blue didn't feel like the best opener.

Time stretched and condensed in the the span it took to give the operator the number and wait for the connection. A few cars passed, the beams of their headlights momentarily blinding Babe every time they turned by. He followed their paths, as if he could travel with them just by staring hard enough.

"What?"

As waspish as the answer was, as shitty the quality of the call, the voice bled all of the tension out of Babe's body instantly. He sagged forward around the receiver with what he hoped wasn't an audible sigh of relief.

"Joe?"

The line crackled sharply.

"Babe?" Liebgott hissed, incredulous and far softer than he had sounded a moment ago. "That you? Are you alright?"

Babe blew out another breath and tried to steady himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine, I just-" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard around the lump forming there. "I just missed you."

It shouldn't have been as hard to admit as it was. They had wound themselves together for a year, been through some of the worst things two people could experience at each other's sides. In Austria, drunk on gin and the promise of peace, Babe had grabbed Joe by his skinny hips and told him exactly what he meant to him.

Then they had come home with a continent between them and nothing but the occasional letter. A twenty minute phone call once in a blue moon. They had come home to ghosts and shadows and the lingering fear that they no longer belonged where they once called home.

Maybe that last one was just Babe projecting, but he would have bet money that Joe felt the same way all the way out in California.

More crackling static from Joe's end of the line.

"It's the middle of the night in Philly, Babe. Where are you?" He asked.

Babe closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the booth. This wasn't helping. None of this was helping. Everywhere he turned he was met with a dead end. Dead end job, dead end conversations, dead end of Bill's fucking leg that both of them refused to acknowledge long enough for them to just fucking talk-

"Still there, don't worry, I didn't do nothin' stupid," he sighed.

I wish I did, he thought, I wish I'd jumped a train like a bum and hitchhiked and actually hiked and was standing on your doorstep, good sense be damned.

The hand not holding the phone had started to cramp and lock up at his side, and he tucked it against his chest. When his hands had refused to cooperate in Bastogne, Joe had given him his gloves, rubbed his fingers between his palms to try and make sure the circulation was going until they unstuck. Babe ached for that now, snow and all, just to have Joe's hand in his, Joe soothing his pain and letting Babe shoulder some of his in return.

"I'm not callin' you stupid, I'm checking you aren't stranded in fuckin' corn country somewhere," Joe grumbled. Babe didn't say anything, just turned his cheek into the receiver like it was Joe's neck, like he could fold against him in silence for a while like they had on the ship home when it was too crowded for anyone to care. There was a long sigh, Joe pitching his voice lower. "Missed you too, kid."

It struck Babe through and through, hit him right where he was already cracking open, and he made a muffled noise of pain.

"Don't, Babe, don't," Joe begged, through what sounded like gritted teeth.

"'M sorry," Babe ground out. "'M sorry, Joe, I just can't take it. I thought I could, I thought everythin' would-"

His voice cracked. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and calm down, breathing hard through his nose and listening to Joe do the same.

"Stay where you are," came Joe's hoarse voice, just as the pips started to signal the end of the call. "It'll take me a couple of days, but I'll come. I'll come getcha. I'm coming to getcha."

[hellofanidea]

who am i to ask for seconds when you already cooked a full meal but “Saint or Sinner” for babelieb? (but only if it’s on your heart)

Babe prays in Rachamps for the first time in a while. He tilts his tired face into the golden candlelight of the church, winds his rosary around his knuckles, and asks God to keep an eye on Bill, and Toye, and Perco, and then everyone they've lost for good, like John Julian and Hoobler and Skip and Penk. He wants to be angry instead, wants to throw down the string of beads and howl blasphemy to the rafters, to claw at God's face and ask why?, but he's so goddamn tired, so he settles for begging for things to just get slightly fucking easier.

Beside him, Joe is curled up on their bench, half asleep but keeping one eye on him, like always. When he's finished, Babe sinks down so they're pressed body to body, the way they do in foxholes for warmth, and thinks this is enough - keeping him with me is enough.