Chapter Text
Garrett Shaffer cackled and nearly fell off his chair as Nells Hawman finished up his story.
"And last I checked," he said. "There's still an imprint of his dumb face on the wall!"
The group kept on laughing, louder now, at the mental image he had provided them for the afternoon. Mugs nearly spilled over with their milky-brown contents as the four men laughed and tried to right themselves. Garrett wiped away a tear from the edge of his eye, chuckling and giggling until he could get a proper breath that wasn't fraught with laughter.
"Oh, ho ho, that reminds me, that reminds me," Gattrick Theren spoke up, his pale green eyes glittering with mischief. "You lot remember back in the carrier? Now I know, I know; it was seven years ago, and some of you are getting older and more forgetful--"
"Oh, don't you start that again, that was one time," Garrett responded, even as he was smiling. "I forgot the lamp one time!"
"One time too many!" Gattrick hit back, still grinning. "And I'll keep reminding you! So anyway; the troop carrier. You all remember that inspector sauntering in, data-slate in hand, stick up her arse?"
"Aye, and then she saw every mother-in-law's wet dream, Gar the Shafter over here, and nearly tripped over her own feet!" Villem Merks chuckled. "Her face!"
"Hey, I was telling the story, you mop!" Gatt shoved the blond playfully, which elicited even more laughter from the others.
"I'm not, Gatt," Garrett protested again, chuckling as he tried to sip his mug without getting it down the wrong way.
"So you are," Nells backed up, grinning from ear to ear. He put his mug down and held his hands up, using them to make a frame. "Trooper Garrett 'Gar' Shaffer, proud Guardsman in the Breitan 6th, stealer of hearts everywhere with his tussled brown hair, his smooth sun-kissed skin, his sweet blue eyes, and tall, lean, fit body for picking up wayward maidens and their mothers both!"
The others nearly doubled over with laughter at his pantomiming, even Garrett despite the fact it was about him. Or perhaps it was because it was about him.
Bastards, all three of them. But he liked those bastards.
A tap on his shoulder interrupted his next sip of tey and he looked to the source. Ander Velleck stood behind him, a larger fellow with a quiet personality and cropped, black hair. He had one hand in his pocket and looked as though he was trying to appear smaller than he actually was.
"Gar?" Ander asked, his blue eyes downcast.
"Yeah, Ander?" Garrett responded, turning his attention away from the others.
"Can I get a favour? Personal one." Ander scratched the back of his neck, looking rather bashful. Garrett, on the other hand, just smiled.
"Yeah, sure," he said immediately, casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Should be quiet around the corner." He stood up and put his lukewarm mug of tey on the chair in his stead, the name roughly scratched into the metal denoting exactly who it and the chair belonged to.
"Back in a bit, lads, duty calls," Garrett said, giving a wink to the group. "Don't nick my chair, Gatt; I'll have your arse and not in the way you like it."
Gatt spluttered, nearly choking on his tey, while the two others erupted with more laughter, turning on the redhead. A few curses flew his way as Garrett stepped away and out of the tent, flashing a cheeky smile over his shoulder. Ander had already stepped ouside into the late afternoon, and Garrett gave his shoulder a light, reassuring pat.
"There's some storage boxes stacked high around the corner here, that should give us enough cover," Garrett said, indicating with his head in the direction he meant before walking towards it. Ander followed, hands in his pockets, head bowed as people at his height were wont to do, if only to not bang their foreheads against low beams and doorways.
It was a short walk, really just around the corner to a stack of crates and boxes Quartermaster Henk had put aside while unravelling the paperwork. A good bit of fortune for Garrett in this moment as he rounded the corner and found a perfectly sized crate waiting for him, just the right height for his needs. Ander was close behind him, coming in a bit closer as they got out of sight, hidden in the privacy of storage space.
"Do you want to do prep, or shall I?" Garrett asked nonchalantly, rummaging in a side-pocket of his trousers as he leaned a bit on the crate, his back turned to Ander.
"Just uhm, just a quick one, so, both?" Ander said a little nervously, like he was expecting to be rebuked. Garrett pulled a tube of medical-grade lube out of his pocket and uncapped it.
"Sure. You know the drill then. Give us your hand." Garrett gestured, and squirted some of the clear, slippery stuff out on Ander's now bare fingers. Before he did so for himself, Garrett reached down to unbutton his trousers and tug them down with one hand, pulling his underwear with them until both were around his knees. Then, he deposited a generous amount on his own fingers and reached behind himself.
It wasn't uncommon for a quick romp like this. Most Garrett had were quickies like this; a few short minutes frantically trying to get off before being found out. So he worked fast, dipping his own fingers inside himself, wriggling them around with a soft exhale. He hardly needed the stretch, he more needed the lube. But there was enough so the tube was capped and put on the crate for now. With his still somewhat slippery hand, he grabbed one of his own well-rounded cheeks and pulled at it.
"Go on, Ander, I'm ready," he said, voice low and tinged with lust.
Ander shivered, stepping forward to slot himself against Garrett's backside, one hand hurriedly guiding his manhood towards his goal. Against, a short but yielding resistance, and then in. The taller man let out a hot exhale, thrusting in the whole way until he was flush with Garrett. He wrapped his thick arms around him, holding him close to his chest as he curled over him.
"Shit, Ander," Garrett swore, a shiver running down his spine. He reached down between his legs to take himself in hand. "Forgot how big you are... long day, big guy?"
"Lookout shift," Ander hissed between gritted teeth, His hips snapped against Garrett's, starting a deep, quick pace. "Alone. Just me. And my thoughts. All alone. All-- nn!"
The pace got a little choppy, Ander faltering somewhat but only enough to shuffle his feet further apart and get a better position. Garrett reached his free hand up and behind him to give Ander a gentle and encouraging pat to the shoulder.
"It's all good, Ander," he sighed. "All good. All good, mate. Just get it--mm! Get it out of your system. Frak."
Ander made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and pistoned back and forth fast and hard, desperately so. His voice was quiet and low, intent on not being found out while he and Garrett were together.
"Gar-!" he gasped, pressing his face into the back of Garrett's neck, his shoulder. He bit into the fabric of Garrett's uniform, stifling a whimper. He was already close, wound like a tight spring with too much tension. Garrett pushed back against him, tightening his fist around himself.
"I know, I know, you can, Ander, you can, go ahead," Garrett exhaled, his voice low and breathy, panting. That made Ander groan, letting go of the piece of fabric he had bitten, now panting right next to Garrett's ear.
"Thankyou thankyou thankyou-!" Ander whined and gave three more rapid-fire thrusts, ending with a half-strangled moan and a tightening of his arms. Garrett felt him twitch and pulse within him, bringing him almost over the edge himself but not quite. Instead of having to rapidly try to get off, he felt Ander move a large paw of a hand down and envelope his shaft, thick thumb running over the head. It was warm, calloused, and just what Garrett needed.
He rutted a few times against that hand, aided by Ander moving his hips with his own, gritting his teeth. A little further, a little more, a tightening of that hand and Garrett felt sparks behind his eyes and in his abdomen, flushing into his system. He let out a soft, breathy moan, trembling slightly as he basked in the aftermath, his body warm and his heart thudding against his ribcage. Ander palmed him a little, groping, thumb running over the tip before letting go.
Carefully, he extracted himself from his friend, gasping when they disconnected. Garrett reached a hand up to fumble and find Ander's face, running his hand further up and back to thread through his short black hair.
"You good, mate?" Garrett asked, somewhat breathless, his free hand braced on the crate.
"... Yeah..." Ander responded, just as breathless, but decidedly more relaxed and content now. He hung his head further down, resting it on Garrett's shoulder, eyes closed and basking in the afterglow. He moved his head just enough to place the softest of kisses to Garrett's neck which made the smaller man smile.
"Good, take your time," he muttered, ruffling Ander's hair.
It took a few more minutes for the two of them to collect themselves, Garrett procuring a rag from his backpocket to wipe away any evidence of their tryst. Thankfully most of it had landed on the crate, or was inside. Where it stayed, for now. He leaned up on his tippy toes to give Ander a brief peck on the cheek, prompting a cute blush on the taller man's face.
"Need anything else, Ander?" Garrett asked, pocketing the lube again back where it belonged, and folding the rag to stuff it back into his pocket. He would wash that later.
"Nay, that's... that's all I wanted, Gar," Ander responded, voice soft but not nearly as strained as before. "Thanks. You're a good friend."
"Sure, any time. You need an ear too, just come by, yeah?" Garrett patted his arm and smiled at him reassuringly. He went over the edge of the stacked crates and stuck his head out to have a look around. Not a soul in sight. Not that he himself minded but he knew Ander was shy.
"Coast is clear, let's go," he announced with a soft voice and walked ahead, followed by Ander. He walked a little lighter now, not as rigid or tense.
As they reached the tent, Ander gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. Garrett patted his hand in return, smiling up at the taller man. He blushed lightly and nodded sheepishly before turning to walk away, towards the barracks. Garrett watched him go for a little while and sighed softly with a smile, his chest warm and fuzzy, before turning to the tent and entering.
"Heeey! He returns!" Gatt piped up, still seated in his regular chair. He raised his mug, as did Villem and Nells. Garrett took his own from his chair, the contents now less lukewarm and more on the verge of cold, and raised it right back to them.
"Returned and in one piece, what'd I miss?" he grinned, sipping his mug. The tey wasn't particularly nice at this temperature but it went down all the same, and his mates tipped their own in a toast.
"Ahh, eh, nothing much, I was just regaling the lads of that one time on Voltix III, when Argil got shot in the--"
"Trooper Shaffer!" A sudden bark of an order rung through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere in the tent. Everyone within got up and stood to attention, mug in one hand, the other at their side.
Half a second later they were joined by the stringent Commissar Mihel Farrow. With slicked back, dirty blond hair, hard grey eyes, and a tough frame, he looked like the kind of man that was used for modelling the propaganda posters, specifically the ones with the commissar pointing at the viewer and demanding something.
"Sir!" Garrett replied, arm straight down at his side, the other holding his mug at rib height. Farrow stepped up and right into the man's personal space, glaring. They were approximately the same height, but the commissar always seemed so much taller. Probably the hat. And the stick up his arse. It occurred to Garrett for a moment that it always seemed as though the administratum and authority types had that particular trait in common.
"What, in the Emperor's name, did I witness just now?" Farrow demanded.
"A walk back with Trooper Velleck, sir," Garrett responded promptly. He got a finger jabbed into his chest for his efforts.
"Do not play coy with me, trooper, I know what I witnessed! You were fraternising with Trooper Velleck!" Farrow accused.
"I was helping him out, sir," Garrett responded back, fighting the urge to shrug his shoulders.
"Helping him out? Helping him out?! That is not what I witnessed! Since when is fornication on Imperial storage units helping someone out?" Farrow sneered, leaning a bit closer to Garrett's face. The trooper met those hard, grey eyes directly. And blinked owlishly.
"... Sir, with all due respect, I'm confused," he confessed. "May I inquire further?"
"Hrmph! You may."
"If you saw Trooper Velleck and I in the middle of the act, sir, why didn't you just shoot us?"
"I--" Farrow spluttered for a moment, just long enough for Garrett to seize the opportunity.
"Could it be possible you yourself watched for a little longer than what was proper, sir?" he dared a small smile. "Maybe you wanted to join in?"
"I-- No! Not at all! How dare you accuse me of such indecent thoughts!" Farrow barked. But this close Garrett could see the light dusting of a blush on his cheeks. He stopped smiling.
"Sorry sir, it won't happen again," he said. He could see Farrow fuming, see the cogs turning in his head. He drew back half a step with a sniff and a grimace.
"Hrmph. You are an unruly bastard, Trooper Shaffer, skirting the rules as you are. Do not let me catch you again, or that will be your last act of indecency, do you understand?!"
"Yes sir!"
"Good! Let this be a warning to the rest of you as well! I will not tolerate such behaviour in my regiment! Dismissed!" Farrow turned on his heel and marched out. The men in the tent only relaxed when they could no longer hear his footsteps.
Gatt was the first to burst out laughing, followed quickly by Villem and Nells, with Garrett chuckling softly to himself.
"Five crowns says he'll nab you for his tent, Gar!" Gatt cackled.
"Seven says it'll be tonight!" Nells chimed in.
"Deal!" The two shook on it and toasted their half-empty mugs before downing the contents.
Garrett said nothing, chuckling to himself as he downed the remains of his own mug, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of cold tey.
As the sun began to set, the guard-posts and patrols rotated bodies, the day-shift heading back to their beds and the night-shift coming out of theirs to take over. The Breitan 6th worked like a smooth, well-oiled machine by now, having been in service for over fifty years at this point. Everyone knew what to do, everyone knew their places, everyone knew the routine in the trenches. The day-shift came in, the night-shift went out, the same revolving door of routine and duty, keeping everyone safe.
Garrett smiled fondly as he leaned against a stack of crates, looking over the comings and goings of his fellow troopers, his comrades, his friends. Everyone knew their place. Well, except...
"Trooper Shaffer!" came the familiar bark. Commissar Farrow stomped up to him, just as sour in the face as he had been earlier. Garrett stood to attention immediately.
"Sir!" he greeted, now making the sign of the aquila over his breast.
"My tent, this instant," Farrow commanded, turning on his heel and fully expected Garrett to follow. Which he did. He could feel eyes on his back and dared to briefly look over his shoulder, spying Gatt and Nells on their way to their bunks. He smiled at them. They grimaced in an attempt to not laugh, Nells nudging Gatt in the side. He had probably won the bet.
Turning his attention back, Garrett followed the commissar with a tight march, as taught to him years ago. He followed as ordered all the way to the man's tent, which was partially dug into the side of the trench. Calling it a tent was something of an overstatement and more a colloquial term, as the facade was made from the flaps of a tent and the inside had been lined with tarp. It was constructed the exact same way as every other dugout in the trenches, only this one wasn't housing four men at one time but just the commissar.
Farrow turned up the oil lamp he had left out on his desk, spreading some light within the tent. It cast shadows on his face, making him look older and more intimidating to many. Garrett, however, didn't feel intimidated. He waited for the trooper to stand at his desk before speaking.
"You challenged my authority today, Trooper Shaffer," Farrow said ominously. "That is reason enough to execute you. You challenged my authority in front of other troopers. You made me look like a fool in front of your friends. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Garrett nodded once, hands at his side, feet slightly apart, standing at attention.
"Then you know I could shoot you right this moment and I would be entirely justified," Farrow sneered.
"With all due respect, sir," Garrett interjected. "I don't think you would."
"And why not?" Farrow's brow wrinkled as his glare deepened. Garrett couldn't help but think he would look much better if he relaxed a bit. There was a very handsome man beneath all that bluster and sneering.
"Because if you really wanted to set an example, sir, I would've been dead by now. You would've shot me in front of Troopers Nells, Gatt, and Villem, to send a message."
Commissar Farrow fell silent, narrowing his eyes.
"But, I recognise the trouble I've made for you, sir," Garrett continued. "It's not proper of me. So, I would like to make it up to you."
"And how, pray tell, would you do that?"
"By helping you, sir. The same way I helped Trooper Velleck."
Farrow spluttered immediately, growing red-faced as he placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward.
"Are you bribing me, trooper? With acts of indecency no less?! Why I should--"
"I'm not, sir," Garrett cut through, meeting his eyes head on. "I'm explaining to you what we do here in the Breitan 6th. You're new to the regiment. I don't think you really know what happened between me and Trooper Velleck, sir."
"Oh, I do; that was fraternisation!"
"That was morale support, sir."
"... What?"
Garrett smiled. He reckoned the man hadn't been clued in on it yet. Maybe it was fate that the commissar's first real encounter of it was Garrett and his way of doing it.
"Morale support. Myself and others in the regiment, we help our brothers and sisters in arms when times are tough and they feel a little lonely. We don't always have access to the retinue, just like we don't have it on this campaign, but we're all just human, sir. We like being with people, we like closeness, comfort, companionship. So, a group of us help out our fellow troopers now and again. Don't worry though, sir, we get more regular medical check-ups than anyone else, I have one tomorrow. We've got rules too, to keep us safe." Garrett stepped closer to the desk and turned his side to show his right arm, specifically his sleeve.
"That patch there; the yellow circle and cross? That's telling others what I do. They know they can come to me and talk or get a little physical. Sometimes people just want to be held, or kiss a little. Other times they need the full ride. It makes them feel safe, alive, real. Really helps with morale too."
Commissar Farrow stared at him for several seconds as this information sunk into his head. He looked like someone had slapped him.
"This is... that is..." His jaw snapped shut, his mind spiralling for a bit. "Why was I not informed of this before now!"
"I don't know, sir," Garrett said honestly.
"I made a fool of myself!" Farrow continued, now indignant with anger. "If only my fellow commissars had told me about this arrangement, but no! No! I had to find out on my own and be subsequently humiliated in front of the common troopers! I do not believe the audacity-!"
He blustered and spluttered angrily, kicking something on the floor. Garrett waited patiently for a breather between spouts of anger, so he could interject and perhaps calm the situation a little.
"Sir?" he asked.
"What?!" Farrow snapped at him. He was clearly still fired up about having been 'duped'.
"We have something of a tradition in this regiment," Garret began carefully. "Of hazing new recruits. Just mild teasing, really. Like asking new blood to go fetch the buckets for las-dust, or tell them to go to Quartermaster Henk and ask for a 'shell-plunger' for the earthshakers. Or, well, not tell them about the O-X patches until they find out for themselves. It's a kind of rite of passage. Bit of harmless fun."
"And you think that I was subjected to this 'hazing' ritual?" Farrow frowned as he spoke, gesturing to himself.
"Yes sir," Garrett nodded. "Just harmless fun. You might find it humorous too if you weren't the subject of it."
That gave the commissar pause. He squinted but not in anger rather in thought, looking off to the side for a moment. He had quite a nice face, his grey eyes rather pretty when he wasn't glaring at something or someone.
"Hrm... perhaps. I guess," Farrow finally relented. "But I do not care for being humiliated in front of the troops!"
"Trust me, sir, the lads and I do not take it seriously." Garrett held up his hands in a placating manner. "We will still respect you for your station. There's a vast difference between a bit of tomfoolery between fights, and a battle of life and death. We know that difference, sir."
"Good," Farrow gruffed and adjusted his coat with a finality. His shoulders were up and tense, his body coiled like a spring. Garrett squinted lightly, a feeling in his gut.
"Sir?" he inquired gingerly.
"What is it? You're dismissed if you're wondering," Farrow waved a hand at him.
"With all due respect sir," Garrett continued. "You look really, really tense. I happen to be good at helping with such. If you'd like my services, that is." He vaguely gestured to the patch on his arm to underline what he was putting down. Somehow, it felt safer not to speak any indecent or vulgar words in the presence of Farrow.
The commissar stared for a moment and then, remarkably, blushed. A beautiful dusting of pink across his nose and the top of his cheeks, before he looked away, trying to find somewhere in the dugout to stare at that wasn't Trooper Shaffer.
"I-I... I shouldn't. Such is not proper. You are my subordinate, that would be fraternisation and--"
"Sir," Garrett cut through. "Full confidentiality. Anyone can pick one of us, regardless of rank or station. Even the Colonel. That's the beauty of it."
Farrow was quiet for a while, the cogs turning in his head, an internal struggle between absolute duty and the fact he was very human, just like everyone else in the regiment. Garrett had seen that before, he knew the sort of thoughts running through his mind. Was it ethical? Was it tantamount to heresy? Was it against protocol? Or was it, perhaps, entirely all right?
"I... g-guess. But!" Farrow finally said. "Nothing the sort of what you did with Trooper Velleck. I am not that kind of man." Garrett smiled.
"Of course, commissar. If you will allow me?" He gestured to behind the other and Farrow gave a stiff nod.
"Yes, very well, do what you must, but nothing like what--"
"--I did with Trooper Velleck. I understand."
Farrow mumbled a 'good' and stood rather rigid in place, as though he was waiting for a firing squad. Garret shook his head gently and stepped around the desk, walking behind the other man. Reaching up, he placed both hands on the man's shoulders, feeling him tense immediately upon contact. But Garrett didn't push or pull him anywhere, rather he dug his thumbs into the man's shoulders, applying enough pressure to be felt through the coat and shirt beneath. Farrow gasped softly.
"W-what are you doing?" he asked, his voice a slightly higher pitch than before.
"Helping you, sir," Garrett told him. "There's more ways to relax than fornication. Not everything has to do with knocking boots."
"I..." Farrow mercifully trailed off as the massage continued, strong and firm thumbs and palms kneading the muscle.
In all honestly, Farrow felt like a brick. He was so tense that Garrett was rather amazed he hadn't shattered from the pressure yet. The density made it almost impossible to find which area needed the most attention, so a general massage was the best course of action. Slow, insistent, firm, Garrett worked the shoulders and neck, digging his fingers into bare flesh at the base of the man's skull.
Farrow groaned. It was like music to Garrett's ears, telling him that he was on the right track.
"You can sit down if you'd like, sir," Garrett said. "I'd also appreciate you removing the coat, makes it much easier to continue this."
To his delight, the commissar nodded softly, shrugging off the thick coat and hanging it over the back of his chair before sitting down. His head lolled forward and he relaxed when Garrett put his hands back on him. His breathing eased, his shoulders sagged a bit, and slowly the muscles began to loosen up with each press of Garrett's thumbs.
He kept it up for about half an hour. By the time he was done, he got a confirmation of his earlier assessment as he took a peek at the commissar's face; Farrow really was a handsome man when he wasn't overly tense and glaring at things. His face had smoothed out considerably, no longer drawn and tense like his shoulders. It made Garrett smile and his chest warm up again. He had succeeded in helping yet another person. Giving Farrow's shoulder a parting pat, he walked around him to face him properly. Seeing that face in full and not just a peek only made Garrett smile wider.
"I'm guessing you had some painful knots in your shoulders, sir," he said.
"Mm," Farrow responded. "Yes... quite. Yes, I did. I... right." He straightened a little. His back was straight as usual but his shoulders no longer hunched up like an irritated cat. "Yes, well, thank you, Trooper Shaffer, for services rendered. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir. You're welcome," Garrett continued to smile as he made the sign of the aquila over his chest. "Do let me know any time if you need another round." With a nod, he turned and left the tent, stepping out into the cooler night air.
It was a nice walk back to his own bunk, hands in his pockets, head held high, chest warm and fuzzy. That's how it should be, he thought. That's how a day should end. He stopped by Nells' and Gatt's tent, sticking his head past the flaps to spy the two of them with their bunkmates, getting ready for some well-deserved sleep.
"Gents," Garrett announced. All four turned towards him. Nells grinned like a fox, his eyes twinkling. "For that wager of yours, consider this; services were rendered, but no knocking boots. I'll let the two of you to figure out how that factors in. Have a good night, the Emperor protects."
He left before either of them answered and he heard them start squabbling soon after as he walked away towards his own bunk, grinning into the evening.
Aye, this is how all days should end.