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He's 21 years old, he's not some lovestruck teenager, and he certainly ain't no little boy who looks at things that are pretty with big, awed eyes. He grew up in Chicago, he lived in the streets, he knew where love can lead him to (a broken heart and a broken mind, his mama would warn.) But the man he met in basic, the man who would be responsible for his life and the lives of many other young men, the man who would lead them into battle and through heartache, through the destruction of war; is the man he just had to fall head over heels with. And it's his commanding officer, First Lieutenant Joseph Turner. God, he fucked up this time.
But can you really blame him? Lieutenant Turner isn't just looks, it's his personality, and Robert Zussman is a sucker for a good personality. He's fatherly to his men, he's kind, a bit shy when the soldiers ask him some personal questions, he has a good sense of humor, and he's proven himself in a short amount of time that he's an outstanding leader. Him breathing guarantees the utmost respect and loyalty any soldier can give to his officer, he's loved and respected and brass loves to flaunt him around to other companies and divisions (according to Frank Aiello.)
And his looks are hard to ignore. He's not completely sharp around the edges like Technical Sergeant William Pierson, there's some gentleness in his features as he smiles softly at a struggling soldier or offers kind words of advice or reassurance. He's not too tall like Private Ronald "Red" Daniels or Pierson, but he's taller by a couple inches than Zussman. ("Everyone is taller than you, bud." "Hey, kindly, fuck off.")
His eyes are like looking into a pit of topaz, a pretty brown with hints of blue. They're bright most of the time, and Zussman is unfortunately oblivious to how they seem to get brighter and softer whenever they land on him. But they get dark whenever he's deep in thought, or worrying, or upset. And they're like a dark, pitch black pit when he's angry, but that's a rare sight to see.
Robert Zussman is fucked.
...
How did he get himself in this situation? He cared about his men, they were always his number one priority, but one man out of the hundreds he served with stood out, and captured his heart. He thought it, at first when he saw the man, that he was simply appreciating how the other looked. With his lithe, almost slender body, running with ease and going through the obstacle almost elegantly, always landing perfectly on his feet. He couldn't see much from the distance, but he was impressed with Private Zussman's performance and even more so when the young man seemed to slow down to help a fellow soldier. He couldn't observe the man any longer, since he was heading to a meeting with Colonel Davis about their upcoming mission.
But after that, he decided to make his presence a more frequent sight among the men, and when he got a good look at the younger man, his breath was taken away. His hair is a rich brown color, a bit wavy and looking soft to touch. His skin is like ivory, smooth and pure. But his eyes, those are what drew Joseph in. They were full of emotion, emerald green to the darkest grey, like the depth of an ocean in the middle of a thunderstorm. They held his emotions, he spoke with his eyes like he spoke with his mouth, they were bright whenever he talked to Private Daniels or Private Stiles, or turned sharp like diamond edges when he dealt with Technician Aiello's bigotry. Joseph noticed how they softened in a reserved way whenever they held eye contact, an emotion lingering in those green eyes, something hidden but begging to be revealed. It pulled Joseph along, and he realized while they were on the boat to England to be taken then to Normandy, that he fell in love with Robert Zussman.
In his defense, who wouldn't love the Chicago born man? His little quirks, the way he shrugs off Aiello or Pierson but whenever his friends are threatened, he's like a mother hen, talons out and ready to claw at the perpetrator. He's comforting and kind, not shy but he can get quiet and a bit passive aggressive when he meets someone new. He's best friends with Daniels, he defends Stiles, he's trying to be decent with Aiello, and he isn't afraid of Pierson (unlike most of the men in their unit, excluding Turner.) And throughout it all, he still holds that look for Joseph, his lips curling up softly, almost delicately, in a beautiful smile that it stops Joseph in his tracks, it lodges the words he's supposed to say in his throat and his brain shuts off. Because maybe, just maybe, Zussman may like him back. Not in a respectful way, or a friendly, brotherly way, but maybe the way Joseph feels about him. Love.
He can almost hear Pierson scolding him. Love is a dangerous thing in war.
But his mother's voice seems to echo over his friend's. Love can also overrule war.
The days leading up to their invasion of Normandy were full of emotions; emotions everyone can feel in a boat that's crammed with at least 500 soldiers, not including the 50 officers, and 200 support personnel. Some soldiers had no bunk to lay in at night, so they occupied the floor and Joseph felt a twinge of guilt hit him, but he knew there was no comfort in war. Comfort is a luxury, it's a civilian reward, and they weren't civilians. Not anymore.
He caught Zussman resting on the floor near the hallway leading out of the barracks for two nights, having let a seasick soldier take his bunk. He knew there was room in the officer barracks, specifically his bunk, and wanted to invite him those two nights but fear and shyness formed a lump in his throat and turned his brain into a puddle of frenzied thoughts. He walked away, feeling like a coward, and slept alone those two nights.
When the day came, Colonel Davis gave them a big speech. It's supposed to be motivational, especially to the Privates who just went through basic, but Joseph couldn't help but worry at how everything could go wrong, because that's been the talk of meetings between the officers. When they get there, they can be manned down in seconds by machine gun fire, or artillery can be aimed right on the beaches. That doesn't include the scenarios of the paratroopers not being able to land properly or being forced back, and since they're practically secret operations, it's killed or captured if they are found after landing behind enemy lines. They needed them. They needed each other. This is the battle that can turn the European Theatre, they couldn't afford to lose it.
"I can hear you think, Joe." Pierson says in a hushed whisper behind him, his voice hard but Joseph knew his best friend. He's worried too.
"It's normal, I'm an officer. I have to think." He wants to say it meanly, to make it seem like he's fine, but it comes out soft spoken and with way too much emotion and Pierson sighs. Before he can say anything, a familiar and comforting voice speaks up.
"I wish I was coming home to her!" Zussman is heard behind them, no doubt talking to Daniels, and Turner discretely moves a bit so he can get the man in his eyesight.
"Just wait until we hit Paris." Daniels replies, giving his friend an almost knowing smirk, and Zussman huffs, trying to be playful to hide his blush.
"Seems like a long way off!" He counters and Daniels chuckles, his nerves (and the nerves of the men around them in that tiny Higgins boat) shutting off. Zussman could comfort any man, whether directly or indirectly, and it's a blessing to the platoon.
Joseph doesn't want to interrupt this small moment of peace, but it's war, and he's their officer. He has to give them a last brief.
"I'm glad to lead you men into battle," He looks at each one of them, "Any time." His eyes land on Zussman, who's staring back at him. "Anywhere."
The war isn't going to be easy on them, but as long as Joseph is alive, he's going to make sure each and every one of his men make it out alive. Especially Robert Zussman.
...
Fucking hell, this is fucking stupid. He's fucking stupid.
Robert watches the medics scurry around the aid station they set up, his eyes trained on their hands. They move efficiently and quickly, calmly and steadily, orders barked at the soldiers bringing in the wounded and everyone listens and bends over backwards for the angels in the battalion, because without medics, there is no more fighting. Zussman remembers when he was offered the position by Colonel Davis and the senior medic at basic, the two impressed with his knowledge on first aid and how he swiftly patched up the soldiers playing wounded during practices. Growing up in Chicago taught him many things, and being friends with reckless idiots also taught him how to be a street medic. He patched up things from splinters to gunshot wounds, burns to dislocated shoulders. He thought about it, but declined, and while it wasn't really an option, supposedly one of the officers fought for Zussman to stay a combatant. He's grateful, because he makes friends way too fucking easily and he isn't sure how he'll act when a buddy (Daniels, Stiles, Aiello, Turner, hell even Pierson) falls to the side and he has limited time and resources to save them. He can't. No matter how much he's interested.
He escapes two weeks early after hearing his boys are heading into Maringy, and one of the medics he became close to gave him some extra medkits they managed to scrounge from deceased Allied soldiers and the Germans. They see his interest, they see how he reassures a wounded soldier, telling them everything is going to be fine. They would've enjoyed his company, but they know his heart would always be for a soldier. Too big for a medic. Too good for his own good.
He finds his platoon easily, a breathless chuckle leaving him as he hears Aiello, Stiles, and Daniels talking about wrestlers. He puts in his input, grinning at the surprise that falls over them, and embraces Daniels when the young man falls into his arms almost immediately. Stiles grins happily at him and he knows the man is going to want a "Welcome back photo", but Aiello gives him a smirk and nods towards his abdomen.
"Don't be shy, show us your battle scar." He says, and Zussman smiles, lifting up his uniform top to reveal the pale scar that stood out from his smooth skin. He looks up and catches eyes with Turner, and his face immediately tints a red color, his hands dropping his uniform down.
"Glad to have you back, Private." Turner calls out softly, and Zussman is oblivious to how the man he's pining after seemed to stare at where he exposed skin.
"Glad to be back, sir." He calls back, and circles in closer with his squad when Turner begins to brief them on their next mission.
Paris. City of lights. Zussman can't conceal his excitement for the French, especially the Resistance, as they watch the sky explode in beautiful colors as fireworks mark the liberation of France. He follows the others to a hotel where they'll be residing for the night before they head out again, brushing shoulders with Daniels as they carry some supplies to the hotel.
"Paris is gon' be full of love tonight, huh?" Daniels says, and Zussman turns his head to see the other is staring at him. He then points his gaze to Turner, who's a few feet ahead of them talking to Crowley and Pierson, and his face warms up. He shuts down any intruding thoughts though, instead sending a half hearted glare to Daniels who snickers and looks away, playing innocent.
"It's never gonna happen, Ron. For many reasons." Zussman trails off, and Daniels sighs, leaning closer to his friend.
"You never know. I've caught our beloved lieutenant sending you looks. I thought you were pinin' after 'im?" Daniels teases and Zussman rolls his eyes, but his heart picks up betas when he thinks over his friend's words. As much as Daniels likes to tease him for his crush (that was all it was, he reminds himself, just a crush), his friend would never hurt him in any way regarding his feelings for their commanding officer, so the slightly younger man isn't lying.
"I don't know," is how he can say and Daniels nods, glad he doesn't have to find a new topic to talk about when Stiles wanders over and starts snapping a few pictures of them. Aiello makes a remark that has him and the college kid bickering as per usual, and Daniels rolls his eyes and nods a thanks when Turner holds the door open for them when they reach the hotel. Zussman smiles softly, whispering a small "thanks, sir", and is surprised when Turner puts a hand on his right bicep and stops him from continuing on.
"Hey, Pierson is likely going to drink himself to a drunken stupor and I don't have the patience for him tonight. Can I bunk with you?" He asks, and Zussman notices the pinkish tint to his Lieutenant's face. He smiles and nods, praying his own blush isn't noticeable.
"'Course sir. Do we have rooms already?" He asks, stepping inside the hotel and pointedly ignoring the knowing look Daniels was giving him. He sets down the crate of supplies he was carrying, startling when a hand touches the small of his back. Turner also jumps, retracting his hand slightly as he looks away.
"Yeah, follow me." He starts walking and Zussman follows, taking in the hallway and the slightly torn and dusty wallpaper of the walls. Soldiers and resistance fighters were ripping off anything that represented the Nazis, but when they entered their room for the night, a huge banner hung above a desk and the bed. Turner barely blinks before Zussman is growling and storming over, harshly ripping off the banners and tearing at them like an animal, his frustrations unleashed on the fabric. Turner watches before stepping in, resting his hand again on the small of Zussman's back, and they hold a conversation with their eyes.
Zussman's emeralds are dark, sharp, angry. He hates the Nazis, he's tired of war and why the war is even happening, and there's something else. There's always something else. Turner sighs, shrugging off his Thompson and placing it on the desk, gesturing for Zussman's M1 Garand. He hands it over, and takes off his ammo belt and hands over the first aid kits he has. They lost their medic, and are awaiting a replacement. The boys were relying on each other.
"Where we headin' after this, sir?" Zussman asks, and Turner looks at him.
"Joseph."
Zussman makes a noise, head tilted slightly and Turner smiles. "Call me Joseph. No need for formalities now."
When Zussman smiles at him, Joseph feels like he can make it through the end. "Call me Robert then, Joseph."
There's only one bed, and after lightly arguing for a few minutes on who should get the bed they decide to just share it. It was a big bed, enough room for them, but in the middle of the night, they unconsciously moved closer and closer. If they woke up groggy and noticed one was cuddling the other, they didn't move or think anything other than the warmth and comfort and want. When they woke up that morning, they said nothing when they untangled themselves from each other's hold and grabbed their equipment again. But if Pierson and Daniels caught their best friends sharing glances and lingering touches, they just smiled and looked the other way. Because those two deserve to be happy.
Joseph was confident in his decision. He trusted Pierson to take care of the men he handed over when he split the platoon in two groups, he trusted Pierson to take care of Zussman. But after they reached the assembly point, and minutes turned into an hour of no word from Pierson, Turner was starting to doubt his decision. Stiles was practically begging for anyone to answer him through their radio, and Turner walked off to a distance to collect his thoughts and not have a mental breakdown there and then. Footsteps caught his attention and he turned to see Daniels had followed him, worry and fear shining through his ever blue eyes and Turner knew he's not the only one.
"Sir, is it true? About Pierson getting those men killed at the Kasserine Pass?" Daniels asks, and Turner freezes, because Kasserine has never left him. It never left any of them who fought and lost so much there. He thinks of Pierson, who begged and begged and saw his face fall when he realized they were about to leave men behind. Men crying out for them. To be saved. That was the first and only time Joseph has seen William Pierson crack. He truly did care about those men. The men left behind especially, they were his friends before they were split for the mission.
"One day, Daniels, when you're leading your own platoon, you'll find out there's usually two options. Bad and worse. But, you focus on your men because that's what'll get you through," Turner says softly, and Daniels nods, but his expression hardens.
"Tell that to Pierson."
Turner isn't sure what he can say to defend his friend, when he himself hasn't gotten over Kasserine. "Sergeant Pierson..." He sighs, "You just pray you're never in that position."
"Lieutenant! Just got a transmission from Baker. They're gonna assault Hill 493. Pierson's with 'em!" Stiles yells and Turner feels like freezing cold water was dumped on him. His gut churned and his blood boiled despite it all. Zussman.
"What?" He growls out, taking steps forward and Daniels curses under his breath and follows after him.
"He took our guys and Second Platoon."
Turner turns to his men, "Gear up! Let's move!" They start racing towards Hill 493, and Turner could only pray that his men are alright. (Selfishly, he prays for Zussman more.)
When they reach the others, Joseph doesn't bite back his anger and disappointment in Pierson, but the man ignores him and continues urging to get the mission done. When they reach one of the bunkers leading into the trenches, where the 150s were firing on their positions, Turner grabs Pierson by his arm and doesn't hold back.
"How many casualties?" He orders and Pierson avoids eye contact.
"We executed the mission–"
"HOW MANY?" The boys step back, startled that their usual calm and kind lieutenant raised his voice. He feels guilty for not keeping his composure, especially when Robert stares at him with wide eyes, but that's when he remembers that Pierson was supposed to protect his men, which included his lover. And his best friend jeopardized that trust.
"Our instructions were to take this hill!" Pierson yells back, and Turner can feel his anger rising.
"You should've waited for us!"
Pierson shakes his head, "There wasn't time–"
"What about our men?" The next words sent Joseph over the edge.
"We had orders."
Pierson doesn't make a noise when Joseph punches him, but his face snaps to the side and he lifts a hand up to touch his already bruising cheek, the corner of his bottom lip aching and he can taste blood.
"To hell with our goddamn orders!" Joseph growls out. Pierson continues to rub at his face, trying to control his anger, because he knows he has to let Joseph let go. But he can't stop talking.
"You think I wanted any of this? Huh? We are cogs in a machine, Joseph. We start going our own way, the whole thing breaks down. When did you forget that?" Turner grabs him and forces him to look at their men, who are staring with wide eyes, but not exactly in fear. In wonder, in awe, in curiosity, in anger and hope and sadness and exhaustion. They were all so young.
"These are men! Our men! When did you forget?" The boys looked too much like the men he had in Kasserine, and it only pushed Pierson down the edge. He's going to get everyone killed, and what would happen to him? Another demotion? Another scolding? What was the US Army going to do, when they're struggling to keep good leaders? To keep men alive? A barrage nearby alerted Joseph and he looked over. Pierson gets the upper hand in the argument.
"Those 150s are still firing on our position."
Joseph sends a final glare at Pierson before masking his expression and turning to his men. "Keep moving. We're taking them out."
Joseph touches the small of Zussman's back, only for a few seconds, but it's a gesture of comfort. Of reassurance. Zussman trails his pinky over the back of Joseph's palm and his eyes speak for him. They head out of the bunkers and get to work destroying the artillery guns, and the Tiger tank that appeared.
No one says anything when Zussman tackles the tank commander when he pops up behind Joseph and was about to shoot him while he was about to help up Daniels. Probably in shock at how fast the events happened. But they began to move over when Zussman punched the officer in the face repeatedly, yelling curses and threats, and it took Pierson, Aiello, and Stiles to pull off the young man. They thought he calmed down enough, but Zussman turned around and grabbed the officer's Luger and shot him point blank. Joseph had to drag him back, especially when enemy reinforcements started storming in. They made it out, but not without scars that would haunt them.
Nothing could prepare Joseph Turner for the ambush. Kasserine, Normandy, Aachen, the Ardennes. Nearly getting killed. Nothing could prepare him for losing Zussman. He isn't sure if he would have preferred his lover dead then a Prisoner of War, because once his identity is revealed, it can be over for him.
He's quiet, almost withdrawn from his men, but it doesn't affect the way he does his job. He leads them on, he protects them the best he can in war, but when there's a small moment of silence, where they can sit and eat their crappy rations and smoke cigarettes, he's sitting off alone and looking off in the distance with a blank stare. Pierson tries, Daniels tries, all the men try but it's like talking to a brick wall. They keep their hopes up because the war isn't over, and fear can't have a place in their platoon.
When they reach the Rhine, Joseph fights ferociously. He's almost ruthless to the Germans, although Pierson doesn't seem disappointed at this because he knows what his best friend needs. Joseph is shot in the bicep, but he refuses to be taken off the line, especially now. (He has a medic patch him up and keep quiet, but was threatened that after they found Zussman, he needs to be sent to the nearest aid station to ensure the wound doesn't get infected.)
Taking the Rhine was a victory for them, but it didn't feel like it. They were missing a key member, and they weren't going to continue with the war until they found Robert Zussman.
They crossed completely into Germany, and prepared to liberate Prisoner of War camps. But the rumors were real. They liberated concentration camps, and Joseph couldn't stop the tears after their first liberation, he couldn't bite back the sobs and wails and the anguish. It wasn't just because of the fear for Robert, but because of what these poor people have been through. Jews, Poles, Soviets, Queers, the disabled. The young and the old. Men and women and children. He never felt so much anger. The Nazis had to pay. They were going to fucking pay.
They gathered intel that Robert may have been sent to a camp in Berga, and when they got there, the place was deserted. The sights were horrific, and Joseph began to lose hope. His shoulders slumped forward, his eyes widened, and he felt like throwing up whenever he saw a corpse. His nerves weren't eased when the boys would say the corpse wasn't Zussman.
Pierson and Stiles dug through some burning papers and the Sergeant quickly grabbed him after reading one of them.
"They planned on marching them. That's all I got. Rest is burned to nothing." Pierson murmurs and Joseph shivers, his eyes stinging. God, where would they have marched a bunch of prisoners? Pierson walks away and Joseph stands there, staring at the fire and he feels defeated. He feels like a coward. He lost the war. He lost everything. There's no way to describe how complete he felt around Robert, like his life finally found meaning, like he finally found peace in the world. Months of not gazing into beautiful green eyes that always took his breath away; months of not getting small, warm touches that brought him back to reality and gave him motivation to continue when all he wanted to do was curl in a ball and just die in God knows where Europe.
"Boys, you gotta see this!" Pierson calls out, and Joseph is dragged over to where he's kneeling down, pointing at the soft soil, still wet from the late rainfall from earlier. There's footprints, multiple, and suddenly Joseph feels something alight in him. Like a small flame being fed gasoline.
"The tracks lead to the fields. That's where they must've marched them."
Daniels readies his M1 Garand. "Then, that's where we're going."
Joseph ignores their conversation, already venturing into the forest. It's a race against time, and soon his feet that were dragging against the dirt were picking up speed, and he's sprinting. He dodges low branches and jumps over fallen ones, his speed never slowing, especially when a gunshot rings out. It feels like forever until he sees them. It's like slow motion, a prisoner being shoved to the ground, and a man pointing a pistol at him, and Joseph growls and shoots the German in the abdomen, then the right kneecap. The man goes down with a pained yelp, and he hears the boys catch up and curse behind him, but he's running over to Robert's side and gently bringing the frail man into his lap.
"Is it over? I must be dreaming..." Robert whispers out, his voice cracking and Joseph almost breaks down right there at how emancipated his lover has become. His ivory skin is paler than usual, deathly so, and it makes the bruises pop out like bright glaring lights in a pitch black tunnel.
"Motherfucker!" He hears Aiello roar, and there's a sound awfully close to bone crunching and he spares a glance up to see Aiello beating the piece of shit. Pierson and Stiles drag him off, Stiles trying to tell him it's not worth it, but they're all silenced to surprise when Daniels shoots the bastard in the head.
"Robbie, sweetheart, you're safe now. It's over, we found you, you're going to be okay." Joseph speaks softly and Robert weakly smiles up at him, his hand cupping his face.
"Thought we were left behind. That I might...die alone out here." He mumbles, grimacing at how dry his throat is. Daniels notices and takes out his canteen, handing it to Joseph who then helps place it by Robert's lips.
"Drink some now. Easy, baby." Joseph rubs his hand up and down Robert's side and the younger man leans into the touch, taking small sips of the water before pushing the canteen away.
"Alright, let's get him out of here." Pierson speaks up and he and Joseph help lift up Robert, steadying him between them. Aiello, Stiles, and Daniels follow after them, Stiles lingering behind a few steps to snap a photo of them.
When they get back to the camp, Stiles radios in whoever can reach them and they're reassured medics would be on route. Joseph winces as a sharp pain comes from his wound, and he knows it's bleeding again, but he stays by Robert's side the whole time. No one says anything with their hands intertwined, no one says anything while he leans down and presses soft kisses along Robert's face. They leave Berga and head to the nearest aid station. And Joseph doesn't let Robert go.
...
"You got a ticket home. Congratulations, Captain." Joseph shakes his head, wondering if this is God answering all his prayers.
"What about Private Zussman, sir?"
"He'll be sent to Belgium for an assessment. If they can't provide any more care, he'll be sent to France to receive further treatment before he's shipped back to the states." Colonel Davis looks at the men in front of him and sighs. "You're lucky you're the goddamn best soldiers I have ever met. A real brotherhood of heroes you boys are. With your honorable discharge, Captain Turner, Sergeant Pierson is taking over 1st Platoon as Commanding Officer. Corporal Daniels will be his second in command."
"Yes sir." The three say, and Davis gives Aiello a look.
"I have to be fair."
Aiello smirks, "Of course sir." He wears his new rank with pride and looking back, Joseph would laugh in disbelief at how much Aiello was willing to do just to get Robert back.
"1st Platoon, you're heading out soon. The war isn't over." Joseph shakes hands with his boys, promising to see them soon, and they hug him briefly before saluting Davis and leaving the tent. Davis turns to him and shakes his hand, giving him a fatherly smile and eyes that say "Don't screw up now."
"Go back to your boy, Joseph. Be safe."
Joseph salutes him and gives him a smile. "I will, sir. Thank you."
"Joseph, where's the cookie container?" Robert yells from the kitchen, and the older man rolls his eyes and steps down from the ladder. He walks over to the kitchen and leans against the doorframe, watching with an amused expression as his husband rushes around their kitchen, opening cabinets and standing on the tip of his toes to try peering into the higher shelves. "Joe!"
"I put it on the table, Rob." He chuckles when the smaller man jumps almost a foot in the air and turns to glare at him, but his eyes trail over to the table and he instead looks bashful, his face going pink.
"Why am I nervous? We know these idiots, and this is far from our first reunion." He mumbles, grabbing the container and twirling it in his hands. Joseph smiles softly and walks over, pressing a kiss to the soft curls that have been growing out. No regulations, no coercion. They got to do whatever they wanted.
"Maybe because it's our first reunion married?" He teases and Robert huffs, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before going back to the millions of cookies he's baked.
"Maybe. But it's dumb, because they're always so supportive." Robert says, and Joseph nods.
"It is our first time going to Queens."
Robert seems to freeze up, his movements stilled but he nods seconds later.
"It's been two years since I last been in a city." It's true, they went to Camrbidge for a few months before it became too much for the both of them. PTSD and the fact they've been away from home for a while, Joseph moreso than Robert, they gave the house to Pierson for when he returned and bought a house in the quiet suburbs. They didn't mind it, they had a nice piece of land and enjoyed peace and quiet and doing whatever they pleased without judgment.
"We'll be fine, sweetheart, I promise." Joseph walks over and wraps his arms around Robert's waist, leaning his head into the crook of the smaller man's neck. Robert rests his hands atop of Joseph's and hums, letting his sweet husband rock them side to side.
"I love you, Joseph." He whispers, turning around in the embrace to look into those beautiful brown eyes. Warmth, home, comfort, love.
I love you, Robert." Joseph gazes into the emeralds that hold so much emotion it makes them sparkle. He leans down and captures soft lips, his hands moving to rest on Robert's wonderful hips, and he hums when soft hands reach up and gently curl into his hair. The kiss is soft and slow, full of passion and love, it's another form of speaking. They break away minutes later for air, smiling like idiots in love, and just holding each other.
It's perfect, it's everything they ever wanted.
Love.