Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. And it's killing me.
A/N: Taking a departure from my other fic, "Magnolia", I decided to try my hand at a short fic. I originally tried to make it on the order of the famous 5-minute fics from the M*A*S*H Slash group, but it actually turned out to be more of a 32-minute fic. Alas, it's short, it's fluffy and perhaps most amazing of all, it has an ending!
Pairing: Take a wild guess.
****
Charles looked at the ceiling of the company clerk office and shifted his position so he was sitting on the edge of the single cot that had been left in total disarray by its inhabitant earlier that day. His slight movement only rumpled the covers a bit, and he found himself not caring about the fact that in a gesture very unlike him, he had actually taken the time to neatly make the bed which Klinger had left so untidy.
The kind of thing he did, after all. Klinger was of the lower class of people in America, after all. It was Charles' designated duty as an aristocrat to clean up his messes, and the messes of the masses of people just like him.
His family had always been so averted to doing it, though; whining about taxes (if not altogether evading them) and the fact that their returns weren't great enough. Blaming the little people was always on the itinerary of the Winchesters, and thus they distanced themselves from the people at all costs.
"Imagine what they'd think if they could see me right now, sitting on this bed waiting for him to get back. Eagerly anticipating seeing his face... blatantly defying everything I've ever learned. What a disgrace. What a... an abomination I'd be." Charles thought with a wry smile.
Klinger was performing some mundane task or other, he knew, and with a sigh he wondered how long before he got back. Colonel Potter wouldn't be in his tent forever, after all, and wounded could come in at any time.
Oh, the factors that conspired to ruin everything. First his looming thoughts of dishonor and now time itself. Would nothing go right? Would Klinger ever return?
At the very moment he thought those words, the door opened. Charles stiffened and prepared to jump to his feet as a chilling sensation pulsed through his body. Good god, what if it was Colonel Potter coming in through the clerk office as he *always* did?! Or worse yet, an officer with a gripe. It could even be those bungling buffoons Pierce or Hunnicutt.. and how would he EVER live it down if one of them should catch him sitting on Klinger's bed?
However, his fears were assuaged when the figure that entered the room was none other than the short, skinny and dark skinned Lebanese corporal, sighing and tossing a large canvas sack in the direction of his bed. Charles smiled and folded his hands in his lap, expecting Klinger to say something to him.
When a moment of silence went by, he looked up in confusion and saw Klinger sitting back in his chair, casually scanning an envelope with his eyes. Charles was utterly perplexed, and he cleared his throat.
Klinger jumped out of his chair, still facing away from his bed. "Colonel, I swear, I was just making sure the return address was spelled correctly!"
Charles frowned, and then heaved a deep sigh. "Klinger, it is me."
The shorter man turned around so quickly he knocked the chair backwards, and he looked at Charles with confusion. "Oh, Major. It's just you!"
"What do you mean, 'just' me?" Charles asked huffily.
"Oh, well, I mean.. not Colonel Potter. How long have you been sitting here?"
"Long enough to clean up the mess you left. How did you ever make it past basic training with the way you leave your bed?" Charles asked with a hint of playfulness in his voice.
Klinger grinned, picking up on the teasing note. "I made my bed back then, but I figure why should I now, I have you to do it for me." He plopped himself down on the bed, rumpling the sheets into disarray once again. Lying back on the pillow, he bent one leg and carelessly flung the other one on Charles' lap.
"Of course." Charles sighed, leaning his elbow on Klinger's bent knee. They met eyes and in their entangled position, they both breathed a silent prayer that no one should decide on that moment to fling open the door and come looking for a piece of paperwork.
"Say, Major.. today you seemed kind of quiet at breakfast." Klinger recalled quietly, taking the opportunity to talk now before they wound up in a position where there wasn't enough air to both talk and kiss at the same time.
"Did I? I'd hardly have noticed, were I you. Pierce and Hunnicutt were especially reprehensible today. It seems to get worse after a late night."
"Well, they have their way of dealing with things.. and so do you. Nothing's wrong?"
"I haven't come here to cry on your shoulder. I'd much rather use that shoulder for other activities."
Klinger grinned. "Dare I presume that this means you'd like me to pull out my pink sweater?"
"No, no no. That won't be necessary. I find your fatigues enticing enough at the moment."
"You sure?" Klinger asked, rising into a seated position. "Or maybe that sassy green polka-dotted number? Say, Major, did you realize I put on my fishnet tights this morning without even thinking about it?"
"Perhaps if we stop talking now, I'll get a brief chance to see them."
"You can have as long a chance as you want, Major. Just so long as no one comes in."
"Then, perhaps it would be best if we--"
Klinger broke off his suggestion as he put his hands on Charles' face and gently leaned in to kiss him, cocking his head to one side. It was always so shocking at first; not so much to Klinger, who'd long gotten over any reservations about things like romance and what was considered "taboo", but mostly to Charles. It wasn't that they were both men, that didn't matter to him in the slightest at the moment and despite his ravenously conservative upbringing, it rarely presented itself as a setback in his mind.
What did surprise him was the fact that for all of his deviant behavior, all of his crudeness and dishonorable acts, for his urban mannerisms and bohemian morals, when Klinger really put his mind to it, as he always did around Charles, he had the most alluring body language and the most satisfying kisses of anyone (man or woman) that Charles had ever known. And he wasn't a fiend about it, either, he was always a perfect gentleman.. or lady, depending on how he was dressed at the time.
In the moment, there truly was no such thing as class. What had just moments before been a moral and ethical quandary of epic proportions melted away until it was just another frivolous worry, on par with the rumpled bedclothes beneath them. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter, not when love of this calibur was alive and pulsing with so much power.
If only it could last forever... but they both knew perfectly well that outside of a private office in South Korea filled with personnel so jaded from the sight of blood and death they'd most likely not even blink at the sight of those two in a passionate embrace, there was no place in the entire world where they could make something like this last. And it wasn't just the difference in rank, either.
No, it was that awful, looming class difference. Charles could put it aside in his mind for now, but in truth it was the ultimate divider of men. No Winchester could ever open their doors to someone like Klinger. Ever.
Charles unexpectedly felt a lump forming in his throat, and for a moment he was tempted to spill everything he'd worried so much about onto his companion. Surely, it would ease the pain some to share it with him! Surely it would.
But he knew that was something he could never do, and as he swallowed the thought of desperate tears, he pleaded with eternity and breathed a single prayer to whomever or whatever was the controller of fate, as cruel as it was.
"If only we could be part of the same world..."
::Fin::
A/N: Taking a departure from my other fic, "Magnolia", I decided to try my hand at a short fic. I originally tried to make it on the order of the famous 5-minute fics from the M*A*S*H Slash group, but it actually turned out to be more of a 32-minute fic. Alas, it's short, it's fluffy and perhaps most amazing of all, it has an ending!
Pairing: Take a wild guess.
****
Charles looked at the ceiling of the company clerk office and shifted his position so he was sitting on the edge of the single cot that had been left in total disarray by its inhabitant earlier that day. His slight movement only rumpled the covers a bit, and he found himself not caring about the fact that in a gesture very unlike him, he had actually taken the time to neatly make the bed which Klinger had left so untidy.
The kind of thing he did, after all. Klinger was of the lower class of people in America, after all. It was Charles' designated duty as an aristocrat to clean up his messes, and the messes of the masses of people just like him.
His family had always been so averted to doing it, though; whining about taxes (if not altogether evading them) and the fact that their returns weren't great enough. Blaming the little people was always on the itinerary of the Winchesters, and thus they distanced themselves from the people at all costs.
"Imagine what they'd think if they could see me right now, sitting on this bed waiting for him to get back. Eagerly anticipating seeing his face... blatantly defying everything I've ever learned. What a disgrace. What a... an abomination I'd be." Charles thought with a wry smile.
Klinger was performing some mundane task or other, he knew, and with a sigh he wondered how long before he got back. Colonel Potter wouldn't be in his tent forever, after all, and wounded could come in at any time.
Oh, the factors that conspired to ruin everything. First his looming thoughts of dishonor and now time itself. Would nothing go right? Would Klinger ever return?
At the very moment he thought those words, the door opened. Charles stiffened and prepared to jump to his feet as a chilling sensation pulsed through his body. Good god, what if it was Colonel Potter coming in through the clerk office as he *always* did?! Or worse yet, an officer with a gripe. It could even be those bungling buffoons Pierce or Hunnicutt.. and how would he EVER live it down if one of them should catch him sitting on Klinger's bed?
However, his fears were assuaged when the figure that entered the room was none other than the short, skinny and dark skinned Lebanese corporal, sighing and tossing a large canvas sack in the direction of his bed. Charles smiled and folded his hands in his lap, expecting Klinger to say something to him.
When a moment of silence went by, he looked up in confusion and saw Klinger sitting back in his chair, casually scanning an envelope with his eyes. Charles was utterly perplexed, and he cleared his throat.
Klinger jumped out of his chair, still facing away from his bed. "Colonel, I swear, I was just making sure the return address was spelled correctly!"
Charles frowned, and then heaved a deep sigh. "Klinger, it is me."
The shorter man turned around so quickly he knocked the chair backwards, and he looked at Charles with confusion. "Oh, Major. It's just you!"
"What do you mean, 'just' me?" Charles asked huffily.
"Oh, well, I mean.. not Colonel Potter. How long have you been sitting here?"
"Long enough to clean up the mess you left. How did you ever make it past basic training with the way you leave your bed?" Charles asked with a hint of playfulness in his voice.
Klinger grinned, picking up on the teasing note. "I made my bed back then, but I figure why should I now, I have you to do it for me." He plopped himself down on the bed, rumpling the sheets into disarray once again. Lying back on the pillow, he bent one leg and carelessly flung the other one on Charles' lap.
"Of course." Charles sighed, leaning his elbow on Klinger's bent knee. They met eyes and in their entangled position, they both breathed a silent prayer that no one should decide on that moment to fling open the door and come looking for a piece of paperwork.
"Say, Major.. today you seemed kind of quiet at breakfast." Klinger recalled quietly, taking the opportunity to talk now before they wound up in a position where there wasn't enough air to both talk and kiss at the same time.
"Did I? I'd hardly have noticed, were I you. Pierce and Hunnicutt were especially reprehensible today. It seems to get worse after a late night."
"Well, they have their way of dealing with things.. and so do you. Nothing's wrong?"
"I haven't come here to cry on your shoulder. I'd much rather use that shoulder for other activities."
Klinger grinned. "Dare I presume that this means you'd like me to pull out my pink sweater?"
"No, no no. That won't be necessary. I find your fatigues enticing enough at the moment."
"You sure?" Klinger asked, rising into a seated position. "Or maybe that sassy green polka-dotted number? Say, Major, did you realize I put on my fishnet tights this morning without even thinking about it?"
"Perhaps if we stop talking now, I'll get a brief chance to see them."
"You can have as long a chance as you want, Major. Just so long as no one comes in."
"Then, perhaps it would be best if we--"
Klinger broke off his suggestion as he put his hands on Charles' face and gently leaned in to kiss him, cocking his head to one side. It was always so shocking at first; not so much to Klinger, who'd long gotten over any reservations about things like romance and what was considered "taboo", but mostly to Charles. It wasn't that they were both men, that didn't matter to him in the slightest at the moment and despite his ravenously conservative upbringing, it rarely presented itself as a setback in his mind.
What did surprise him was the fact that for all of his deviant behavior, all of his crudeness and dishonorable acts, for his urban mannerisms and bohemian morals, when Klinger really put his mind to it, as he always did around Charles, he had the most alluring body language and the most satisfying kisses of anyone (man or woman) that Charles had ever known. And he wasn't a fiend about it, either, he was always a perfect gentleman.. or lady, depending on how he was dressed at the time.
In the moment, there truly was no such thing as class. What had just moments before been a moral and ethical quandary of epic proportions melted away until it was just another frivolous worry, on par with the rumpled bedclothes beneath them. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter, not when love of this calibur was alive and pulsing with so much power.
If only it could last forever... but they both knew perfectly well that outside of a private office in South Korea filled with personnel so jaded from the sight of blood and death they'd most likely not even blink at the sight of those two in a passionate embrace, there was no place in the entire world where they could make something like this last. And it wasn't just the difference in rank, either.
No, it was that awful, looming class difference. Charles could put it aside in his mind for now, but in truth it was the ultimate divider of men. No Winchester could ever open their doors to someone like Klinger. Ever.
Charles unexpectedly felt a lump forming in his throat, and for a moment he was tempted to spill everything he'd worried so much about onto his companion. Surely, it would ease the pain some to share it with him! Surely it would.
But he knew that was something he could never do, and as he swallowed the thought of desperate tears, he pleaded with eternity and breathed a single prayer to whomever or whatever was the controller of fate, as cruel as it was.
"If only we could be part of the same world..."
::Fin::