Okay, this is a little One Shot I came up with on the bus on the way home. I had a long wait so I decided to put it to good use. Here it is, my first Band of Brother's fic.; I've been in love with it for ages and I figured it was time I contributed :). Enjoy.

Civilised Society

Lipton stared at Speirs, his clear brown eyes showing nothing. Nobody in the company could read Captain Speirs, especially not First Sergeant Lipton. Lipton was pretty oblivious, never reading anything into the looks that Speirs gave him, the gentle touches or the closeness when they were leaning over maps together. It was only stood in the back room of a convent in Rachamps that Lipton finally realised. And that was only because Speirs had told him.

"Lipton..." he had said, "from what I understand there's been one man holding this company together from the start..."

Lipton had no idea who he was talking about, Speirs seemed to realise this.

"I'm talking about you, First Sergeant Lipton. You have a bond with the men I've never seen.. " this was around the time Lipton moved to protest. Speirs seemed to have no idea what he was talking about, perhaps the cold in Bastogne had altered his mind, or maybe it was the fact that he had to deal with Dog Company before his transfer to Easy in Foy.

Regardless of the reason, Lipton found what he went on to say even more absurd.

"I find that admirable, Carwood..."

The sound of his given name rolling from Speirs lips made Lipton question what was happening, "I find that strangely... alluring…"

Lipton had to question his own sanity when he heard this. Did his CO just call him alluring?

Before Lipton had a chance to question the Captain, the man in question had stepped forward and was resting a hand on Lipton's neck, his callused fingers rubbing small circled on the grubby skin.

"Sir-" Lipton had been cut off by Speirs' lips pressing against his own. There was no way to describe the feeling of another man's lips on his, his CO none-the-less; if Lipton had to try he'd probably describe the taste, a strange sweetness that Lipton attributed to the chocolate Speirs had shared with the men not long ago - there was a great stigma surrounding accepting things from Captain Speirs but that didn't extend to something as rare as chocolate - a smoky taste that no doubt came from Speirs' stigmatised Lucky Strikes and a musky depth that he could not identify but found himself labelling as 'Speirs'.

Speirs broke away and began to kiss Lipton's neck, nipping at the skin. Hearing no complaints, he carded his fingers through Lipton's blond-ish-brown hair.

"Sir," Lipton breathed, "If I may? What in the hell are you doing?"

The husky tone of Lipton's voice told Speirs that he didn't exactly want him to stop, he just wanted an explanation for his actions.

"Well, Carwood-" there it was again, his name rolling from Speirs' tongue, languid as you like, "I figured I may as well try my luck now you're warm."

Lipton knew what that meant; he had wanted to do this for some time but decided to wait until they were comfortable, well fed and in a good mood, that way if everything backfired the consequences wouldn't be so severe.

Lipton understood that. He understood that all too well, his time in Bastogne had opened his eyes a little when it came to reading people, though clearly not enough. He read Dike like a book, but that was for another time.

"You never suspected a thing, did you? All that time and you never guessed?"

"Guessed what, sir?"

"My less-than-honourable intentions."

Speirs was always to the point. Lipton respected that.

"No, sir, I guess I didn't."

"Then let me explain."

Before Lipton could say a word, Speirs' lips were back on his own, his slender fingers tugging at the buttons of his OD shirt.

"Sir."

Speirs paused.

"This can't happen, civilised society wouldn't allow it."

"Lip, this isn't civilised society... this is war."

Lipton knew what that meant now, 'what happens in the foxhole, stays in the foxhole'. War was different to everything anyone could ever imagine, nobody could judge in war... at least not until they'd experienced it themselves; the food shortages, the bitter cold, the mud, the rain, the comradeship, the sharp tug as you realise that in another life you and the man you just killed may have been friends.

And so Speirs' lips returned, and Lipton let them, returning the gesture with enthusiasm. Speirs was providing physical comfort, a contact that Lipton had forgotten since his enlistment. He never realised that someone like Speirs could provide that comfort, that hand to grip. He never realised Speirs would be willing.

And suddenly, Lipton realised that he needed the comfort of his captain, that frantic physical contact. He could not say if this was simply 'letting off steam' or if, sometime tomorrow, Speirs would come to him and confirm the words he now muttered into eager ears. All hr knew was that, after so long alone, it felt nice to have someone beside him, even if it was his captain in the back room of a convent somewhere in Europe.