They've both been drafted. It, well. No one ever quite expects things like this, but it wasn't really a surprise. A shock, but not a surprise.
Actually, Jason had been surprised. Not by his own letter. No, but when he, still reeling, had shown up on Tim's doorstep, not sure how to tell him, not sure what to think, he certainly had been surprised to see Tim, bone white, staring at a letter of his own.
It is something of a comfort to Jason, that Tim is going off to Washington DC, as part of some science-y think-tank. He won't be going out to the front, at least not right now.
But Jason, Jason is being sent to the front. It's 1942, and Europe has been embroiled in the war for almost 4 years. They all know what it's like over there, no matter what patriotic terms the propaganda tries to portray.
Tim's read his history. He knows what it was like in World War One.
The Great War.
The War to End All Wars.
What a joke.
He knows what happened to the soldiers; even the ones who did come back were never the same. And he's terrified of losing Jason, absolutely terrified that even if by some miracle Jason makes it through, makes it back to him, he won't be the same cheerful, enthusiastic, loving man he knows.
Jason's shipping out tomorrow. He's packed, sold his apartment. He showed up at Tim's doorstep with his duffle over his shoulder, uniform on.
Tim almost broke right there.
Instead, he pulled him inside. No words. They had already said all of their words. Even Tim couldn't find anything to say that didn't sound desperate, pleading. Please don't leave me. Please don't go off to die. I don't know how to be without you.
So he pulled him inside. They left the bulging duffle abandoned by the door. Tim almost tore the uniform off Jason. He couldn't stand to see it on him now. Morning would be soon enough. Morning would be too soon. It would always be too soon; Tim's capacity for denial stood no chance against his pragmatism.
But for tonight…for tonight he would try to pretend.
Try to pretend everything was okay. That the world wasn't in chaos, that they weren't going off to war.
Try to pretend that he couldn't *believe* deep down, that Jason would be coming back to him.
So he pulled Jason down onto the bed and tried to re-learn every inch of him, imprint it on his memory. Root Jason so deep inside himself that he would never be free, he never wanted to be free. He never wanted to be free of Jason.
His body, his scent, his strong hands. The way this touch drew thatreaction. The way he would gasp when Tim lapped at the sensative hollow of his hips, or moan when the younger man sank teeth into his neck, sucking hard at the site to raise a mark.
Jason would go to his squad claimed. He would know, and they would know, that Jason belongedto someone. Jason would know he belonged to Tim. That he had to beat the odds, had to come back home, to Tim. Tim, who wouldn't remember to eat, if he didn't have Jason to pull him away from his latest project. Who would fall too much into himself without Jason to pull him out.
Jason surged up under TIm unexpectedly, reversing their positions, looming over Tim. His expression was so uncharacteristically solemn that Tim's breath stuttered.
"I'm coming back." Jason said. He broke the silence that had surrounded them to say those words. He said it with so much conviction; to Jason, it seemed that was only truth. Certainty. He could not accept any other outcome. Tim couldn't help but believe him. At least for this moment.
"I know." said Tim.
Humor flicked across Jason's face, as he drew a hand up to touch the red mark at his neck. Tim flushed bright red to see that had had apparently broken the skin in a few places.
"Really?" The question was a slow drawl, before a soft smile overtook his face. "Tim, I know I'm yours. You don't have to worry about that!"
"I'm sorr-" Tim started.
"I'm not." Jason interrupted him. He pulled back and swiped a thumb in the trickle of blood on his neck. He smeared the crimson against Tim's slack, startled lips, before swooping down for a passionate kiss, sharing the bitter copper between them.
"There. Now you'll always have a little piece of me in you. So I have to be yours, for ever and always." Jason looked a little sheepish, a little defensively defiant for expressing that sentiment, but not like he wanted to take it back.
Tim nodded dumbly. Trying to suppress the premonitory shudders at the metallic taste of Jason's blood coating his tongue.
"Now," Jason said, with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, "I know something else of mine you can have inside y-" Jason was forced to break off when Tim, laughing in disbelief, smacked him soundly with a pillow.
The wrestling match that ensued gradually shifted from laughter and pins, to moans and long, lingering touches.
Hands migrated lower. Gasps met and encouraged touches to sensitive areas. An exploring tongue and teasing sucks along a hardened length brought worshipful curses.
The first careful breach was accompanied by another exaggerated eyebrow motion, which almost made Tim cry, even as he laughed. God, he would miss this; miss Jason, and the light, love and laughter he brought to his life.
Both the urge to laugh, and to cry, faded quickly as one careful finger turned into two, three, nudging against his prostate on every few thrusts, driving him out of his mind.
Before long, he was begging Jason to "take him, damn-it!"
So Jason did, shifting and hiking Tim's legs up onto his shoulder, sinking into him with burning-perfect-pleasure, and it was so good, too good, and Tim couldn't see, couldn't think beyond Jason's next thrust, please thrust, damnit, please!
Jason had paused, fully seated in him, to stare; eyes drinking in every writhing inch of Tim, while he twitched and squirmed, attempting to push back on Jason's cock. And Jason was thinking about it too, about going to war, about maybe never seeing Tim again, and the sadness and future was creeping into his eyes, but no.
No.
Tim was going to be selfish and jealous tonight. He reached up and hauled Jason down into a ferocious kiss, despite the screaming in his hamstrings at the stretch, and the eye-crossing pleasure as the move tightened him up around Jason.
Jason grunted in surprise, but fell willingly into the kiss, beginning to thrust, to lose himself in the contact of bodies, and the rhythm of their lovemaking.
The future - fate, destiny, whatever you wanted to call it - couldn't have Jason tonight.
Tonight, he was all Tim's.