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It's a hundred little things that make Bozz fall in love with Jim Paxton.
He notices him right away. Tall, handsome, clear blue-gray eyes, something indefinable, like confidence or self-assuredness or whatever, that makes him sexy. Bozz thinks about fucking him, thinks it'd be great, pushes the thought aside.
In the bar, where Jim introduces himself and starts asking questions, Bozz thinks he's got the measure of him. Does a routine for the ladies, hard-headed soldier in the week, though not one who'd tell his secrets to anybody. The moment he realises he was wrong about the first two, when he knows that oh, shit, this guy is fucking genuine, that's when he starts to feel the first little prickles of something more than attraction.
No, fuck, no, he reminds himself. Don't get attached. Fuckable guy in the platoon, that's a bonus. Fuckable guy in the platoon with a good heart on him, fuck that shit.
After they screw the ladies, Bozz is just happy. He has a nice buzz going, he just got laid, a hot guy is naked in the same room, that's good enough for him. Paxton keeps talking to him, and that's nice too. Bozz is still trying to figure him out; he enlisted, so he's dumb, but then he starts talking about the experience and wanting to fucking write and Bozz could punch him. No sensitive souls, that's what great about the Army. Sensitive souls and good bodies are his fucking Achilles' heel when it comes to men. He can keep his sexuality under wraps, keep everything safe and unnoticed, unless he's presented with a fucking attractive man who fucking writes.
The women leave. Bozz barely notices. He tries his luck with a woman he sees coming out of a room, but she gives him a disgusted look and heads down the hall, so he goes back to the room, shuts the door, and cosies up to Jim on the bed. Why the fucking hell not, he figures, they were having a good conversation.
His luck is in, because after a while of talking Jim gets hard, and it can't be their topics. Unless he gets off on politics and literature, which you never know, he might. Only, he sees Bozz getting hard and that does all kind of interesting things and Bozz is in with a good chance of getting laid again tonight.
Jim looks confused, which is somehow cute, and Bozz plans to kiss along his jaw, near his mouth, then maybe his neck. He wants to touch everywhere he can reach. Jim really does have a fantastic body, and if this is the only time Bozz gets to touch it, he is going to make it worth that.
Then Jim kisses him and it takes a split second for Bozz to get over his surprise. He was so sure Jim was repressed enough that it'd take kissing him in all sorts of places to get to do this. Bozz runs the tip of his tongue over Jim's lips until Jim opens them, and then Bozz feels his hands on his back, holding him to roll over. Bozz has a weakness for strong men who'll take the lead, but not always, and be gentle about it. Jim is finding every one of his buttons and pushing them hard, and Bozz should really nip this in the bud.
After he gets laid. This one time, that's what this will be. This one fucking time.
Then Jim looks after Cantwell. He gets mad, really mad at Bozz, but he still sticks up for him with Miter. He backs him against Wilson. Tiny things, building up, that mean he owes him or something, that mean they're buddies. Fuck. Bozz does not want to be his buddy. Bozz wants to forget he exists, or fuck him into the ground, or both. He doesn't want to start caring about what happens to Jim, how he's feeling, what he thinks about anything, least of all his opinion of Bozz.
That Saturday, after Cantwell left and that fight broke out and Jim took the fall for Bozz, the two of them are jogging back to the barracks behind the truck. Jim's talking about Cantwell again, how he did a good thing, and Bozz tells him to shut up. "Don't be so earnest all the fucking time," he says.
"Just trying to give you a compliment." Jim sounds annoyed. Good. It's better that he be annoyed. "Jesus, you really don't know how to take one, do you?"
"You could tell me I'm pretty, I'd take that," Bozz throws at him, with a grin. The tension breaks as Jim laughs. Bozz could kick himself.
"You're not pretty," Jim says, still laughing. "You are handsome, though."
"Aw shucks, you're making me blush." Bozz shoves him with his shoulder, and Jim shoves back. They jog back the rest of the way in silence, Bozz cursing how much he cares about stupid fucking Jim taking the stupid fucking fall for him. It made his heart go soft, and he can't afford that. He listens to Jim's breathing beside him, and tries to make himself stop caring. He's just another soldier. Just another random guy who'll be dead in six months. Don't care. Don't you fucking care.
"I thought of a title for my book," Jim says, half a mile out from the barracks and with the truck long gone on ahead of them.
"Oh yeah? War Sucks and Everything is Bad?" Bozz suggests.
"No," Jim snorts. "The Long Road Ahead."
It's so badly poetic and endearing Bozz could hit him. Instead, he laughs. "That's a fucking awful title."
"Well what would you suggest, since you're apparently Ernest Hemingway now?" Jim shoves him. Bozz hates how good this feels.
"I dunno," Bozz shrugs, which isn't easy when you're jogging. "How about, The Rat's Ass I Care About This Whole Thing?"
"You're an asshole," Jim says.
"Yup," Bozz agrees. Jim doesn't sound annoyed, though. Shit.
"No seriously," Jim says, breathing uneven around the words. For a second, it reminds Bozz of last weekend, Jim's breathing being uneven when he grabbed his cock. He shakes the memory off. "You shat on my title, now you have to come up with one."
"Come on," Bozz rolls his eyes.
"No, come on, Bozz. Give me a title." His tone is only half joking, so he's a little mad. Good. Mad is safe. Mad isn't Bozz kissing him again, Bozz pulling him down into the leaves at the roadside. Mad is distance.
Bozz exhales an annoyed sound. "Fine. Uh ... The Stupid Book About War? The Stick Up My Ass?"
"Bozz." Jim doesn't sound mad now. Bozz glances at him; Jim's watching him like he wants a real fucking answer. Bozz is screwed, because he's going to drop his guard and it is going to get messy.
He looks straight ahead, jogs in silence for a minute, and finally says, "Call it — call it The Way Things Are." He pauses to breathe, then adds, "Then everything can be shit."
They turn off the road at the entrance to the barracks, and in the second they're entirely under cover from the trees, Bozz grabs Jim and hauls him against the nearest trunk. There's some bushes blocking the view of them, though if they move much they could be spotted around the tree. "Come with me to Leesville after chow," Bozz says. "Let's find that hotel again." He can't stop staring at Jim's mouth.
"You mean go AWOL?" Jim asks, voice quiet. Like there's a sergeant standing right behind him or something.
"I mean," Bozz drops his voice low and presses Jim into the tree, "get screwed," he holds his mouth an inch from Jim's, "by me."
Jim whimpers. Bozz means to just leave, but instead he kisses him. Everything is shit, everything but moments like this. The more they have, the worse it'll eventually be, but Bozz is desperate to put his cock in Jim. From the way Jim is bucking against him and kissing him hard, he seems pretty keen on that happening too. Bozz loses himself, just for a minute, in how good it feels to kiss him. The dry softness of Jim's lips, the way their tongues move around each other, Jim's hands on the back of his head and bunching his jacket. The way they're pressing their bodies together, he can feel the hard muscles of Jim's chest and stomach, the strength in his legs. If they had time and privacy enough, Bozz could happily have sex in every position with Jim for fucking weeks, and from the feel of it, Jim'd keep up.
Bozz needs to stop this. Just, just after this one more time he gets laid.
They sneak out while everyone's milling around after chow. Bozz shows Jim how to cut through the woods, through the fields, to get to Leesville the fastest without being seen. The trees are thinning when Jim says, "We're really doing this?"
Bozz halts. "You can go back if you don't want to. Or if you're not sure. I ain't making you do a thing."
"No, I want to." Jim doesn't look completely sure, though. He sounds it, but.
"Look," Bozz moves in close to speak low, "we don't have to. We could have some fun here, go back before anyone misses us. If you want me to screw you, we'll need a room. Your choice."
"Can," Jim says, voice losing all sound. He clears his throat. "Is both not an option?"
"I guess it could be," Bozz says. He can make this be just about screwing, just about getting off and nothing else, only he keeps looking at Jim and feeling a softness in his chest. Stop it, he tells himself again. He backs Jim into the nearest tree, checking that they're covered on all sides from the road and the fields, and sinks to his knees. Jim exhales loudly as Bozz gets his pants undone, pulls his underwear just enough down that he's got a clear shot at Jim's cock. It's at half attention, and Bozz closes his mouth over it, sucking gently until Jim's fully hard. He's making tiny noises, and Bozz feels himself get harder from the sound. Jim leans his head back against the tree trunk, his breathing harsh and irregular, hitching every time Bozz laps against his shaft. He hasn't done it much, but Bozz loves giving head. There's something about finding the right pressure of fingers, the right combination and rhythm of sucks, something about making another man moan from it, that seriously gets Bozz off. He tries some of his favourites on Jim, tries the trick he did last week with sucking the tip (fuck it had felt like someone was shooting intense bolts of pleasure all through him, fuck), then fast sucks, wrist turns, until Jim starts panting Fuck, Bozz, fuck under his breath and Bozz knows he's hit on the exact right way to suck him off. He keeps doing that, Jim's thighs starting to shake, his soft noises getting louder and higher, his hands grasping at Bozz's jacket, at his ears.
"Bozz — Bozz, I'm gonna —" He keeps sucking, and Jim shoots his load in his mouth. Bozz is busy listening to the way he yelps out, "Bozz, fuck," as he comes, and doesn't notice the jizz creeping out of his mouth, running down his chin. He spits it out onto the ground, wipes his face with a leaf, and buries it shallowly.
Jim slides down the trunk and just sits, doing his pants back up. "Shit, Bozz," he says. Bozz grins at him.
"Think maybe," he walks over on his knees and lifts one to straddle Jim, "you could do something in return?"
Jim practically tears Bozz's pants open, wraps his hand quickly around Bozz's cock. It feels good, so good. Bozz arches and gets lost in the sensations, Jim's fingers pressing and pulling, his lips on Bozz's throat. Jim seems to have noticed that the tip of Bozz's cock is the most sensitive part, and he gently rocks his thumb over it. Bozz nearly loses his shit right then and there, writhing and gasping. "Fuck, Jim," he breathes, curling forward as pure, intense pleasure rips through him.
"Fuck," Jim whispers, kissing him and rocking his thumb again. Jim's tongue curls around his, and Bozz doesn't have it in him to fight how he feels. Not right now. So fine, fuck, fine, maybe he feels good things for Jim. Maybe warm, affectionate, fuzzy things for him. Maybe he can't stand the thought of stopping after this time, even though it would be safer. Maybe it's too fucking late for this to be just a sex thing, just a good fuck before they go to war.
Bozz kisses Jim for all he is worth, bucks into his hand, and moans into his mouth as Jim's thumb works its wonders.
When they get back that night, they sneak in without waking a soul and climb into bed like they were there the whole time. In the morning, they both swear blind they were there at lights out, and Johnson and Ryan back them up. "You ever need the favour returning," Bozz says once the sergeant has left, "you let me know."
"I will," Johnson grins.
They find a little privacy in the afternoon, after midday chow, by each saying they want a walk alone and meeting up in the most secluded spot they can find. They don't do anything but make out, slowly, languidly, keeping one ear out for any approach. Bozz can't help himself, so he works one hand in under Jim's vest and splays it just over his hip. "Next time," he murmurs, "maybe you could fuck me."
Jim makes a soft, whimpering noise and shifts his arms to hold him closer. They kiss faster, but still not so fast they couldn't put the brakes on. A warm, contented feeling is spreading over Bozz's entire body.
They don't get much time, but sneak what they can. There's a broom closet nobody goes near after midnight, and if they time it just right, they can slip off on Sundays and find secluded spots to jerk each other off in. The night they're made to dig a hole for a listening post, Jim rolls him over in the dirt and rubs against him for so long that Bozz almost comes. He hasn't had this feeling in a while, of getting to know another person's body, figuring out what makes them go crazy and what holds them off the brink. They talk for hours when they're not training, about everything from war to women to books to family, and knowing his body as well as his mind is making Bozz shine from the inside out.
He gives the men weekend passes for Halloween. They head out into town, and one by one everyone peels away, finding a woman, making for a hotel or a car or anywhere. At last, it's just Bozz and Jim left, and Bozz is just thinking maybe they could find a hotel themselves when they come upon two gorgeous pros. Jim has enough money, so they head off and get adjacent rooms.
Once the pros are gone, Bozz grabs his clothes, doesn't bother putting them on, and slips into Jim's room. "Hey," he says, throwing the bundle of his clothes aside.
Jim grins at him. "Hey," he echoes, inclining his head. "You coming over here?"
They talk for a while, touching lightly. Bozz runs his fingertips over Jim’s skin, tracing imaginary lines everywhere possible, until Jim’s breath hitches and he starts saying, “Bozz —” on exhales, eyes half-closed. Bozz rolls them over and licks just under Jim’s ear.
Jim fucks him on all fours. It's kinda painful, but mostly it just feels good. The solid weight of Jim's cock in his ass, sliding in and out on almost enough spit, is a deeper pleasure than getting jerked off. It blooms outwards, thrumming, slowly growing more intense as Jim builds up a rhythm. Bozz moans as Jim's hand gets to work on his cock, keeping time with his thrusts, sending jolts of pleasure through him. Bozz does his best to be quiet, but it feels so fucking good, and by the time he's tipping over the edge into orgasm he's yelling into the pillow.
Jim comes a couple minutes later and collapses on top of him. "Jesus Christ, Jim," Bozz pants. Jim just groans into his back.
He says, later that night when they're drunker and colder, he says, "I love you, Bozz," and Bozz wants so badly for that to be true that he has to ignore it. He's kissing Jim's neck and they have their hands around each other's cocks and Bozz doesn't want to go to Tigerland, he doesn't want to go anywhere, he wants to stay here in this field with this stupid brilliant man who's so drunk he just told him he loves him. Bozz exerts every ounce of his strength on stopping time, or maybe going back until Jim says he'll come away with him, but he still wakes up hours later with Jim smiling at him like he's the best thing in the world.
The night before they're due to ship out to Tigerland, Bozz can't sleep. He puts his pants and shirt on in the bathrooms so as not to wake anyone, and heads outside for some air. He's been sitting there for less than a minute when Jim sits down next to him.
"I didn't mean to wake you up," Bozz says.
"Oh." Jim shrugs. "I'm awake now. You wanna talk?"
"No, Jim, I do not." Bozz stares straight ahead. Jim nods.
"Fair enough. We won't talk." He doesn't make a move, and they sit there in silence for a bit.
"Shit. You know, we probably won't have time to ourselves up in Tigerland," Bozz says into the silence. He doesn't say, And I'll be leaving then.
"No," Jim agrees. "So I guess this is the last chance."
"Last bit of privacy." Bozz inches closer, splaying his hand on Jim's thigh.
They wedge a mop under the handle of the broom closet. There isn't much room there, and if they move too much it'll make the kind of noise that people notice. Bozz holds Jim's hips steady against the door as he sucks him, careful to do the things Jim likes, but not the things that make him loud. When Jim comes, Bozz swallows it, still with the last of Jim's cock in his mouth, and Jim gasps as quietly as possible. "Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, Bozz."
They switch places. "Do that," Bozz pants, "do that thing. I promise I'll be quiet."
"You sure?" Jim's kneeling in front of him, a sight Bozz does his best to memorise.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."
"Okay, but I'll stop if I hear a peep." Bozz nods, and Jim sinks his mouth onto Bozz's cock. After a few short sucks, which feel like if heaven were a sensation, Jim gets more of his hand around the shaft and starts circling the tip with his tongue.
"That," Bozz whispers, hardly able to speak, "that wasn't the thing."
Jim stops to say, "I know." He's smiling in a way Bozz doesn't want him to, so happy, so sure, so fucking sexy. Bozz really hates having something to lose.
Jim gets back to licking the tip of Bozz's cock. Bozz's thighs keep twitching, his mouth has dropped open, and it takes all of his concentration not to make a sound. Jim sucks at the tip, and Bozz shuts his mouth and bites down hard on his lip. It's almost impossible to keep quiet as Jim sucks and laps and circles and licks the tip of his cock, keeping a constant surge of pleasure rippling through Bozz's body, but he manages. He comes hard, eyes squeezed so tight it hurts, desperately breathing through his nose as tiny squeaking sounds are all that escape his throat.
Jim swallows, the tip of his tongue still lying flat against the very end of Bozz's cock. It's the best blowjob Bozz has had in his life, and as he does his pants back up, Jim smiles at him and leans in for a kiss.
They stand there for a while, kissing softly, fingertips on each other's faces. Bozz wants to stay here all night, all fucking year, maybe if they just barricade themselves in here nobody will miss them and they can slip away.
"Hey," Jim whispers when Bozz feels tears sliding down his cheeks, "hey, shhh."
Bozz leans his head back against the door, the kiss broken. He cries silently as Jim holds him and kisses his cheeks and leans their foreheads together. "I don't want to go," Bozz whispers. He kisses Jim, desperate, even though he won't understand. "I don't want to go," he repeats.
"Hey," Jim whispers, "hey. It's okay."
Bozz tries to force himself to say I love you, but the words won't come out. He stops crying after a while, and Jim still holds him. Bozz kisses him for a long time, trying to hold onto this.
Eventually, Jim says, "Come on, I need some sleep before tomorrow." Bozz reluctantly nods, and they head back to the dorm room. Bozz slides into bed, listens to Jim fall asleep, and finally, the breathing of the other men even and soothing, he falls asleep too.