Work Text:
Zell am See mornings are quiet and easy.
The heat of summer doesn’t feel unbearable until the sun is high in the sky, above the mountain tops: that is why the windows are open and there’s a gentle breeze blowing behind the curtains, moving them in puffs of fresh air, smelling like pine trees.
After more than two years of dorm rooms and bunk beds, of close quarters and makeshift shelters and foxholes, there’s a billet hotel with double rooms and soft beds with white sheets. There’s warm food and good coffee. There are still trainings and duties, but there are also time, quiet and peace.
There’s a room with one of those open windows and swaying curtains. There’s a soft bed with rumpled white sheets and the stillness of an early summer morning.
There’s David, smoking a cigarette, sitting on a chair facing the bed, one leg propped up to rest his notebook against his thigh, writing compulsively on yellowed wrinkled pages.
Sometimes he stops, he smokes, he drops the ashes in the ashtray he put on the armrest and he looks at the bed, at the form of the body on it.
At Joe’s naked back as he sleeps on his stomach, long relaxed breaths slowly raising and falling, sheets tangled in his widely outstretched limbs, morning rays dancing in time with the curtains, caressing pale skin with ever-changing patterns of lights and shadows.
After a look, David goes back to his writing and smoking until there’s shifting and rustling, there’s a quiet sigh and the soft feeling of a chocolate brown eyed gaze on him.
“What the fuck are you doing there, you creep?” asks Joe’s voice, rough from sleep, as he huffs and turns his head to have a better look at David, who smiles.
“Good morning.” he simply replies, extinguishing his cigarette and closing his notebook, knowing perfectly well he’s not going to have the same quiet and peace now that Joe is awake. Joe just grunts and rolls his eyes, face still half pressed against the pillow.
David gets up, stretches his back and joins him on the bed, sitting by his side, bending down to place a small kiss on Joe’s nape, short dark hair brushing his lips, the salty taste of sweat lingering: “Not a good morning then, grumpy old man?” he asks teasingly, shifting down Joe’s body so he can leave a trail of kisses on his back, in the dip of his spine.
“Mh, seems like it’s about to get better…” comments Joe, laying still and relaxed underneath him, half a mischievous smile spreading on his red red lips.
“Nope, not gonna happen.” denies him David, sitting back up with his back against the headboard: “You’ve had your share yesterday and we can’t be late for breakfast again.”
“Boring.” sighs Joe, shifting so he can push himself up, look at David’s amused expression and huff: “You’re so boring, Harvard. Remember me to never seduce a college boy ever again, I may die of boredom.” then he snaps his fingers: “Cigarette. I know you have them, I can smell you’ve been smoking.”
David suppresses an exasperated laugh and rolls on his side so he can pick the packet and lighter from the nightstand and toss it to Joe while pointing out: “Seduce? I think you’re forgetting who seduced who here, Liebchen.”
Joe quickly puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it up, sitting with his legs spread on the bed, unashamed of his complete nudity in front of an equally nude David Webster.
“Seduced you once and then kept luring you into my bed.” he specifies, right after a puff of smoke. He looks directly into David’s ocean blue eyes then, amusement and ease curling his lips upward, replacing the scowl he seems to be constantly wearing elsewhere, by then his most famous feature around Easy Company (see Liebgott, that skinny little guy? The one with the angry frown?).
“Can’t get rid of me, can you? Geez, poor Joseph.” mocks him David, shaking his head and playfully shoving Joe’s leg away, the one closer to him on the bed. Joe puts it back, unperturbed, wiggling his toes against David’s side to try and tickle him.
Then he abruptly changes topic: “What are you always writing in that little diary of yours, uh?” he tries to sound and look nonchalant, brushing back his messy bed hair, but David recognize the curiosity on his features, glinting in his eyes.
David just shrugs: “What comes to mind.”
Joe scoffs: “C’mon, don’t be shy all of sudden. Indulge me a little, there’s still time before breakfast.” he points out, once again moving his foot to softly kick David’s side.
David scowls at him, unsure.
“Am I in there?” asks Joe, smoke dancing around his mouth: “Do you write about me, Web?”
“Of course you are.” replies the younger soldier, dismissively: “Everyone is in there.”
Joe rolls his eyes and scoots up to put out his finished cigarette, reaching for the ashtray on the bedside table. His foot never leaves David’s side and David grabs it, running his hand on Joe’s ankle and shin, keeping him close.
“Sometimes I remember things and I write them down.” he explains softly as Joe’s attention comes back to him, as the older man’s body shifts on the rumpled sheets to face David, to keep their point of contact: “Like… memories from back home or things I studied… poems I knew.” he adds, still sounding shy.
Joe tilts his head and extends his hand, shoving his palm: “Can I?” he asks, easily.
David looks at him, then nods and picks up his notebook from where he had put it on his pillow. He gives it to Joe, who opens it cautiously, handling it with a care that David has rarely seen on his lover’s fingers.
Joe takes a quick look through the yellowed pages, his brown eyes browsing the words and sentences written in David’s neat handwriting, his precise scholar wording, the strokes of a rough sketch of a building or a road or a weapon.
He lingers on the last pages, looking different from the rest: there’s more space between the words, there are different languages, there are different worlds.
More breath, more quiet, more peace.
Joe reaches the last page and his fingers still on something there, something he understands, a thing that suggests David wasn’t lying: he’s in there. David wrote about him.
He looks at David and sees the uneasiness in his bright blue eyes, the fear of laying everything bare in Joe’s hands, having let him look into his mind, his soul.
He smiles, reaching for David’s face to tilt it up, brushing their lips together, caressing his cheek before he can take David’s pencil from his pillow, sitting back up as he asks: “Willst du mir dieses Gedicht vortragen?” (are you going to recite me this poem?) hoping he doesn’t sound as emotional, as open as he feels.
He turns the page to reach an empty one and puts the sharp point of the pencil down on it, stealing a glance at David’s form on the bed, his surprised breathless expression, his naked body reclined backward against the headboard.
“What are you doing?” asks the younger soldier trying to push himself up, but Joe quickly moves his foot up the other’s chest, pressing him down, holding him still.
“Halt still.” (stay still) he orders as he starts to trace lines on the page, looking focused, confident.
“You can draw?” wonders David and Joe can feel his voice vibrating from his chest, under the sole of his foot.
“We’re gonna find out soon.” he replies, smiling almost to himself at the other’s surprised tone: “Talk poetry to me, Harvard. C’mon,” he encourages him, glancing at David with a determined look.
“Es liegt…” starts David, but then pauses, clears his throat, starts again with more intention: “Es liegt der heiße Sommer.” he traces a line with the back of his index finger up Joe’s leg, closing his eyes to better recall the words: “Auf deinen Wängelein; es liegt der Winter, der kalte, in deinem Herzchen klein.”
Joe smiles at him, only half a smirk, looking through his eyelashes at David opening his eyes again, taking a firm hold on Joe’s ankle, shifting so he can push himself up and crawl closer to him on the bed as he keeps reciting: “Das wird sich bei dir ändern, du Vielgeliebte mein!” and Joe suddenly can’t suppress a small laugh as David crowds in his space, brushes their noses, kisses him deeply.
“Now I know they also teach you how to be a big sap in that college of yours.” he jokes, as David rests his forehead against his, pulls him closer circling his arms around the warm skin of his hips and back.
“Proves my point on the ‘who seduced who’ debate, don’t you think?” he asks back provocatively, pressing light kisses down Joe’s face, jaw, neck.
But Joe just scoffs, still playfully, his usual bitterness and anger completely absent in the soft quiet air of the morning, in the white rays of warmth swaying on their intertwined limbs.
“You wish, Liebchen.” he retorts, returning his focus back on the doodle in David’s notebook, pushing the other slightly away with his free hand as he points out: “I’m not finished yet.”
“Let me see.” says David, tilting his head so he can have a look at Joe’s drawing.
There’s just a hint of a sketch there on the yellow page in Joe’s lap, some lines and some shadows, the forming silhouette of a male body on a bed, of a smiling relaxed expression, of bright eyes and messy dark curls.
David’s breath catches in his throat as he recognises himself with ease, as he admires the precise strokes in graphite, Joe’s artistic touch, wondering what else his boy’s skilled hands can do: fire a gun, drive a car in Frisco’s traffic, cut hair, caress, hurt, love…
“You can draw.” he says.
“You sound way too surprised.” bites back Joe, closing David’s diary and pushing it aside, leaving the pencil on it.
“Thought you were just a casual comic books reader, not an artist too.” he points out, pulling Joe’s lithe body with him as he positions himself back against the headboard, Joe sitting between his spread legs, his back against his chest.
“Careful, Webster…” he gets warned, but not completely deterred.
“Should I find you your own little diary so you can draw precious sketches in it?” he asks against Joe’s ear as the other squirms and grumbles.
“Fuck you.” and the magic is over.
David just laughs, used to this, used to Joe, knowing well he shouldn’t be so careless in playing with the dangerous fire that is Joe Liebgott but seeming never able to stop.
“I’m bored. Get up, let’s get breakfast.” and the other’s mood is swinging again, now apathetic and bossy as he pushes David away, crawls out of bed, starts looking for his underwear and carelessly discarded uniform scattered all over the floor.
David just stays still a little while longer, watching him move around their hotel room, in the fresh summer air, in the dancing shadows of the morning.
“Stop looking at me like that, you pervert.” he gets admonished: “Unless you’re still waxing poetic about my hot body in that big brain of yours.” he suggests seductively.
“No more poetry for today. I’m afraid I’m only having dirty thoughts about you hot body now that you’ve mentioned it.” replies David, never wanting to cease their game of provocations.
“I like those, keep going.” comments Joe amusedly, putting on his undershirt with his trademark smirk not leaving his lips: “Maybe we can discuss them over breakfast? See what the others have to add to the conversation?”
“I prefer not to share my opinions on sexual acts with the others,” David politely declines the offer, adding: “But come back to bed and I can demonstrate my theories to you, in details.” he offers, stretching languidly to put himself on display for Joe’s eyes to roam over his still completely naked body.
“Nope, not gonna happen.” quotes the other, tossing David’s own clothes to his face: “You’ve had your share yesterday and we can’t be late again.” he adds, morphing his voice so that he’s trying to sound more like David. Oh, Luz would be so proud.
“You little shit.” sighs David, emerging from the pile of clothes Joe dumped on him. And yes, he is trying to imitate Joe's voice too.
“Pretentious fucker.” retorts Joe without missing a beat: “Get the fuck ready, Prinzessin.” he orders then, bending to look for his boots under the bed.
“Aye, sir.” David resolutely mocks him back.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” sighs Joe.
“As long as these looks keep luring you into my bed.” he concludes.
And after that he has to dodge a thrown boot, but the following outraged string of colourful insults from Joe would always be worth hearing.
Just like Joe’s carefree laugh first thing in the morning, shaking the quiet air of the room like summer breeze and the smell of pine trees.
- - - - -
Es liegt der heiße Sommer
Es liegt der heiße Sommer
Auf deinen Wängelein;
Es liegt der Winter, der kalte,
In deinem Herzchen klein.
Das wird sich bei dir ändern,
Du Vielgeliebte mein!
Der Winter wird auf den Wangen,
Der Sommer im Herzen sein.
There lies the heat of summer
There lies the heat of summer
On your cheek’s lovely art:
There lies the cold of winter
Within your little heart.
That will change, beloved,
The end not as the start!
Winter on your cheek then,
Summer in your heart.