The five important numbers of my life.
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
806
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
806
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
18
Chapter Title: 18.
Author: Darkling Willow
Pairing: Non
Rating: NC – 17. I'm giving it such a high rating, just because of language, and to cover my own behind.
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.
Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Authors Notes: This is just a long "stream of conscience" type of story, where a young man reflects over his life, and the one thing he misses the most.
Alright this story isn't really an AU/AR story, but there are things in it that have never happened in real life, but hey it's a story.
I do not know anything about the military, or its ranks, weaponry, or how life on a base is. I'm just making stuff up here, for your enjoyment.
My only intention here is to write a silly little piece of angsty prose, for others to enjoy.
No offense is meant by this story, to anyone in military service or anyone who has loved ones in service.
I (the author) live in a country that has no military and therefore have no idea how it works.
But I do have a great deal of respect for those who do serve their country.
Summary: Apart.
*******************************************************************************************************
18.
We sign up for the military on my eighteenth birthday.
Both my mother and stepfather are upset with me for actually going through with it, both being so adamantly pacifist but they do their best to understand why, but my father is a little torn between upset and pride.
He’s upset that I joined the British military, and not the American, since I’ve got double citizenship, but he’s proud that I joined.
Obviously your military family is prouder than proud of you for finally getting to it.
We get shipped off three weeks later, my mother and my brother Mori, both crying their eyes out, Mori insisting that it was a bad idea to sign up.
I just kiss him on the lips and hug him, and tell him to stop worrying about me, I’m grown up now.
We get hassled a little at the beginning of basic training for being a couple, but as soon as we tell them that we’re Covent Garden survivors, all the other soldiers stop their teasing.
They have respect for people who survive something like that, and decide to join up.
None of the other kids from our school went into the military, those who came through relatively whole, all of them got work in some sort of social services, doctors, EMT’s, police, grief councellors, those kinds of jobs.
After four months in basic training we get split up.
I cry quietly, as you fuck me weak kneed in the showers of our barracks, the night before you get transferred.
By the time I get back from my early morning work-out the following day you’re gone.
I cry myself to sleep, quietly, for the next week, but thankfully the other rookies don’t tease me about it, they know how I feel about you.
You’ve been gone for almost four months when I cheat on you.
There is a girl in my unit who lost a brother and a sister in Covent Garden, a girl that you and I used to argue about whether she was a lesbian or just a ball-buster.
Well, she’s a ball-buster.
My unit got a day leave, and we went to town and got pissass drunk. On our way back to base, she came on to me, and we ended up fucking behind the messhall. I didn’t really like it, mostly because I didn’t like her that much, but it was good to releave some tension without needing to use my hand in the shower.
I cried myself to sleep again, thinking of you.
I’m sent to ********* (it’s all classified like you know) and you are sent somewhere completely diffirent.
We manage to keep some sort of a contact through my mother.
It’s hard and it’s painful, but we manage to cope.
Somehow.
It has been nearly 18 months since I’ve last seen you, when I cheat on you again.
This time it’s a young man, at a bar in a spanish coastal town.
My unit has been transferred, and there are talks about us getting leave and getting to go home for a while.
We have a day leave, while we are stationed in this Spanish coastal town, and get drunk downtown.
He was standing by the bar, all white teeth, dark hair and eyes, and olive skin, dark and dangerous, I slid out onto the dancefloor and he followed. After half an hour of bumping and grinding, he followed me out into the street, down an alley and I let him fuck me behind a loading dock.
As my cheek scraped against the rough bricks, and some strange man slammed into me, huffing spanish into my ear, I thought about you, and felt so alone in the world, so completely alone and unloved.
The Spaniard gave me a bad fuck and crabs, and three weeks later I was told my unit was going home to England for a six week leave.
Author: Darkling Willow
Pairing: Non
Rating: NC – 17. I'm giving it such a high rating, just because of language, and to cover my own behind.
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.
Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Authors Notes: This is just a long "stream of conscience" type of story, where a young man reflects over his life, and the one thing he misses the most.
Alright this story isn't really an AU/AR story, but there are things in it that have never happened in real life, but hey it's a story.
I do not know anything about the military, or its ranks, weaponry, or how life on a base is. I'm just making stuff up here, for your enjoyment.
My only intention here is to write a silly little piece of angsty prose, for others to enjoy.
No offense is meant by this story, to anyone in military service or anyone who has loved ones in service.
I (the author) live in a country that has no military and therefore have no idea how it works.
But I do have a great deal of respect for those who do serve their country.
Summary: Apart.
*******************************************************************************************************
18.
We sign up for the military on my eighteenth birthday.
Both my mother and stepfather are upset with me for actually going through with it, both being so adamantly pacifist but they do their best to understand why, but my father is a little torn between upset and pride.
He’s upset that I joined the British military, and not the American, since I’ve got double citizenship, but he’s proud that I joined.
Obviously your military family is prouder than proud of you for finally getting to it.
We get shipped off three weeks later, my mother and my brother Mori, both crying their eyes out, Mori insisting that it was a bad idea to sign up.
I just kiss him on the lips and hug him, and tell him to stop worrying about me, I’m grown up now.
We get hassled a little at the beginning of basic training for being a couple, but as soon as we tell them that we’re Covent Garden survivors, all the other soldiers stop their teasing.
They have respect for people who survive something like that, and decide to join up.
None of the other kids from our school went into the military, those who came through relatively whole, all of them got work in some sort of social services, doctors, EMT’s, police, grief councellors, those kinds of jobs.
After four months in basic training we get split up.
I cry quietly, as you fuck me weak kneed in the showers of our barracks, the night before you get transferred.
By the time I get back from my early morning work-out the following day you’re gone.
I cry myself to sleep, quietly, for the next week, but thankfully the other rookies don’t tease me about it, they know how I feel about you.
You’ve been gone for almost four months when I cheat on you.
There is a girl in my unit who lost a brother and a sister in Covent Garden, a girl that you and I used to argue about whether she was a lesbian or just a ball-buster.
Well, she’s a ball-buster.
My unit got a day leave, and we went to town and got pissass drunk. On our way back to base, she came on to me, and we ended up fucking behind the messhall. I didn’t really like it, mostly because I didn’t like her that much, but it was good to releave some tension without needing to use my hand in the shower.
I cried myself to sleep again, thinking of you.
I’m sent to ********* (it’s all classified like you know) and you are sent somewhere completely diffirent.
We manage to keep some sort of a contact through my mother.
It’s hard and it’s painful, but we manage to cope.
Somehow.
It has been nearly 18 months since I’ve last seen you, when I cheat on you again.
This time it’s a young man, at a bar in a spanish coastal town.
My unit has been transferred, and there are talks about us getting leave and getting to go home for a while.
We have a day leave, while we are stationed in this Spanish coastal town, and get drunk downtown.
He was standing by the bar, all white teeth, dark hair and eyes, and olive skin, dark and dangerous, I slid out onto the dancefloor and he followed. After half an hour of bumping and grinding, he followed me out into the street, down an alley and I let him fuck me behind a loading dock.
As my cheek scraped against the rough bricks, and some strange man slammed into me, huffing spanish into my ear, I thought about you, and felt so alone in the world, so completely alone and unloved.
The Spaniard gave me a bad fuck and crabs, and three weeks later I was told my unit was going home to England for a six week leave.