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impala_chickTitle: Blue Flower Sheets
Fandom: Band of Brothers (TV)
Pairing: Speirs/Lipton
Rated: Teen
Word Count: 2,525
Summary: When Speirs chooses Malarkey to lead the patrol, Lipton gets frustrated with him and voices his disapproval. Sure, Speirs is miles better than Dike and he’s been weirdly nice to Lipton, but Malarkey does not deserve this shit.
Speirs is… intrigued by this side of Lipton.
Tags: Episode 1x08 The Last Patrol, Non-sexual intimacy.
A/N: For the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
heavyartillery holiday exchange 2025.
Fic on AO3
After Webster and Lt. Jones are squared away, Lipton finds the private room that Speirs told him to sack out in. It's got a bed in the far corner that's already been made up with fresh sheets, just as Speirs promised. The sheets have pale blue flowers all over them, and they look like they'd been smoothed out and carefully tucked under the mattress. Lipton tries to picture Speirs putting on the flower sheets himself, but making the bed like this requires patience and a soft touch. He can't quite match either of those traits up with the guy that ran through a storm of bullets to take Foy.
Besides, his lieutenant his far too busy to be making the bed for him. He scoffs at himself for even considering it. His longing for something more intimate with Speirs was making him imagine ever more implausible scenarios. Or maybe he should just blame the pneumonia.
Lipton hesitates at the foot of the bed, and stares down at the sheets. It seems wrong to get in without taking a shower, but he can barely make his legs move, and every step makes his jaw ache, so he decides it's not worth the hassle.
He compromises by laying gently on top of the clean sheets. He's got the blanket Speirs gave him earlier still clutched in his hands, so he pulls that on top of himself and tries to lay as still as possible.
He can't fall asleep yet, because Speirs said he was going to come check on him and Lipton has some shit to say to him. He keeps rethinking their conversation on the couch. It's a sign of respect that Speirs chose Malarkey to lead the patrol to the German outpost. Lipton knows that. Speirs would never choose a man that he didn't think could accomplish the mission, which is why he was never going to pick Lt. Jones.
But he'd asked for Lipton's opinion. Lipton couldn't be completey honest while they were in front of all the brass, but he plans on giving him his honest opinion now, even if it makes Speirs angry.
When Speirs talked to him in Foye, back at thhe Church, Lipton got the impression Speirs was really invested in Easy Company, like he genuinely cared. Maybe that goodwill will mean something now. It should, considering all the shit Malarkey had already been through.
It doesn't take long for someone to knock at his door.
"Come in," Lipton calls weakly. He hates the way his voice shakes, but there's nothing he can do about it.
Speirs steps through the doorway and pulls the door closed. He doesn't come any closer to the bed though, just stands there almost at attention. Lipton wonders if he's doing it on purpose or if that's always how he stands.
"How are the sheets?" Speirs asks.
"You can't send Malarkey, " Lipton says as he uses his elbow to push himself upright. "And they're nice, thank you."
"I believe I'm still in charge of Easy, last I checked. And I'm glad."
"I'm not saying he can't do it," Lipton continues. "I'm saying he deserves a break."
"I've already made my decision. There's no one else who has the experience or the temperament for this. We need to get in and get out, and we need it to go smoothly and quietly."
Lipton's chest feels tight. He has to gasp in order to fill his lungs up with enough air to speak. "He's been through hell, Sir. He's wrecked. You might not know, but he lost his best friends back in Bastogne. The guy needs a goddamn minute."
Speirs levels him with a look that conveys both surprise and contempt. But when he speaks, his voice is calm. "We've all been through hell, Sergeant. Especially you."
Lipton knows this is the point where he's supposed to shut up. He's already pushed Speirs too far. He's not an officer yet.
But he's not afraid of Speirs. Frankly the guy seems like he might be running himself ragged the way he acts like nothing phases him. Maybe he needs a wake up call.
"You asked my opinion and I'm giving it. I think this is a bullshit mission. I didn't think you were the kind of guy to just go along with stupid plans."
Speirs holds up his hand, clear body language indicating that he's heard enough. His eyes are staring Lipton down, looking as angry as Lipton's ever seen him. But Lipton plows on, determined to say everything he'd planned on saying.
"If something goes wrong, that's one more thing Malarkey has to carry when it won't even be his fault. There are other guys. Martin could do this. He's still got some gas left in the tank and he won't fuck it up."
Speirs narrows his eyes and cocks his head. His body still looks just as tense as it did when he walked in the room, but his expression softens and makes him look less severe. For a moment, Lipton thinks he's won him over.
But then Speirs speaks. "Sergeant, that will be all. Enjoy the bed."
Lipton's whole body sags. "At least let me tell him."
"You're sick," Speirs says with a shake of his head.
"Not that sick, Sir."
Speirs huffs, which seems completely out of character for him.
"Fine."
Then he turns tail and leaves. Lipton is fucking pissed and his whole body aches even worse than it did before, but at least he tried.
The weirdest part of the whole thing is that he could have sworn he saw Speirs smile before he left. Lipton is annoyed at himself for finding that smile attractive.
***
When Lipton tells Malarkey about the patrol, his shoulders hunch in on themselves and he looks impossibly small. Lipton can't find any words to make it easier. Lipton's headache makes it nearly impossible for him to stand upright, so he hastily retreats back to the room Speirs set up for him and passes out. He doesn't know how long he manages to sleep, but a knock on his door rouses him.
"You awake?"
It's Speirs.
"I am now." He scrambles to sit up, even as his chest constricts with worry. Did the boys already leave for the patrol? Has something terrible happened?
Speirs stands just inside the doorway again.
"Normally I wouldn't wake you but I thought you'd want to know. I've been overruled. Malarkey isn't going."
Lipton relaxes. Maybe there is some justice in the world.
"So who is leading it?"
Speirs replies with a smirk. "Martin."
Lipton is not one to gloat, but he doesn't hold back his smile.
"Are you happy now?" Speirs says it with an amused tilt to his voice. It makes it seem like Speirs is teasing him. That thought makes Lipton's stomach flip over in a decidely pleasant way.
"I will be happy once everyone gets back safely."
Speirs nods, solemn again. "They're just about to step off."
He turns around to leave, but Lipton stops him.
"Can you let me know what happens? I'll be up."
Speirs turns around. "Okay."
Lipton collapses against the bed, and turns his nose into the sheets. They smell like soap. When he closes his eyes, he can almost picture himself tucked into a hotel room somewhere, on vacation. The shelling outside is a distant rumble that puts Lipton right to sleep.
***
Light is filtering through the window when Lipton wakes up. He takes a full, deep breath for the first time in what feels like weeks. Maybe he's turned the corner, finally.
Once his eyes adjust to the light, he realizes Speirs is slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. His whole body is uncharacteristically relaxed. His hair is sticking out to the side, and his arms are crossed across his chest. His face looks soft like this. Lipton is struck again by how handsome Speirs is, which is the same dangerous thought he'd had when he saw Speirs running through Foye.
Lipton shakes himself and then clears his throat. When Speirs doesn't wake up, he does it again but louder. That doesn't work, either.
He sits up and throws the blanket off his legs so that he can set his feet on the floor. His muscles don't ache the way they did the day before.
"Sir," he calls.
Finally Speirs blinks awake and uncurls himself as he slowly stretches out his legs.
"Morning," Lipton says, a little anxious to hear the news. "I thought you were going to tell me how it went right after."
"You were asleep. And you needed the sleep so I didn't wake you."
Speirs' mouth is set in a hard line and he won't meet Lipton's eyes. Something happened, then. Lipton waits, his hands fisted into the sheets at his sides.
"Jackson didn't make it," Speirs says quietly.
"I'm sorry," Lipton says immediately. His body sags from the weight of Speirs' words. He didn't know Jackson well but he did know that he was fucking young. Hell, most of them are, but Jackson had a baby face. Lipton is going to have to check in on everybody and see how they're holding up. No doubt the guys who went on the patrol are going to be feeling like shit.
Speirs shakes his head. "No need to be sorry for me. The patrol nabbed two German prisoners and they blabbed state secrets. Battalion is pleased."
The silence stretches as Lipton starts composing a letter to Jackson's parents in his head. He'll have to help Martin come up with something noble.
"Mission accomplished, then," Lipton says lamely.
Speirs looks up at him and tilts his head.
"Maybe we should talk about yesterday, though."
Lipton doesn't move, even though he figures he's about to get reamed. So be it. He doesn't regreat anything he said.
Speirs gets up from his chair and starts toward the bed.
"You stood up to me." His voice is gentle, not angry.
Lipton puts his hands on his knees and looks up as Speirs comes to stand in front of him, nearly between his legs. As the air between them becomes thick with something Lipton can't name, it dawns on him that they're alone in a fairly small bedroom, where Speirs just spent the night. Now Speirs is looking down at him with his eyes bright and his lips parted, like he's waiting for something.
Lipton swallows, nervous in Speirs' presence for the first time ever.
"Am I in trouble, Sir?"
Speirs cocks his head. "I was surprised that you did that. But no. I was fine with it. Because it was you."
Lipton's tongue is heavy in his mouth. "Oh? Because I'm about to be an officer?"
The corner of Speirs' mouth curves into a small smile, and Lipton wants to touch him there.
"Maybe. I don't know." Speirs shrugs. "You're not afraid of me."
"Of course I'm not," Lipton says. "Why should I be?"
Lipton notices the way Speirs' gaze drops to his mouth. He makes a small, almost involuntary sound in the back of his throat. It reminds Lipton of a moan, but surely his stoic Lieutenant would never make such a noise in front of him.
"Just give me some kind of direction here, Carwood," Speirs whispers, delicate.
Lipton's breath catches in his throat as they regard each other. Now that he's looking, now that his head feels clear, he can see the way Speirs' gaze tracks his mouth. He can see the way Speirs' hands shake ever so slightly. He can see the way Speirs' hips are canted up, mere inches from Lipton's chin.
He's never looked more vulnerable. For some reason, Lipton's never felt more attracted to him. His mouth is dry and his stomach flutters, and he knows neither of those things are because of his illness.
But then, Speirs turns his head away. Lipton feels his guts clench up. He's about to miss his moment.
He grabs Speirs' thigh before he can turn away. As far as moves go, it feels incredibly bold. He knows he made the right decision when Speirs sighs and sinks to his knees at Lipton's feet. He's being even more vulnerable than he was before, and Lipton is floored to be the one that Speirs chose to share this with.
Lipton puts his hand on Speirs' head, and a soft moan escapes from his parted lips.
"Can I just…" Speirs trails off as his eyelids flutter closed.
Lipton touches the corner of his mouth gently, and Speirs leans into the touch. Something clicks for Lipton then. Speirs wants to be touched. He wants to be comforted. It should have been obvious before. The whole stoic machismo thing was a fucking act. At least Lipton is catching on now.
"Yeah," Lipton breathes.
Speirs wraps his arms around Lipton's waist, and rests his cheek on Lipton's thigh. Lipton feels Speirs sag against him as he exhales through his nose. Lipton puts his hands on Speir's head again, runs his fingers gently through his hair until Speirs moans.
"I'm sorry, I don't even know what I'm doing," Speirs says. It breaks Lipton's heart a little that Speirs doesn't think he can ask him for what he really wants.
Lipton holds him down, keeps him there with his hand on his head.
"God, just let me take care of you," Lipton murmurs. "I want to. You can come to me anytime."
"Okay," Speirs answers easily.
Lipton gently plays with his hair and wraps his other hand around Speirs' bicep and tries not to pop a fucking boner in his face.
When Lipton glances over at the flower sheets, he rethinks his earlier assessment. He used to think he was a pretty good judge of character, but he'd misjudged Speirs before. He can be soft and gentle, when he feels safe enough.
"Did you make this bed?" Lipton asks, already confident of the answer.
"I did. I wanted you to have something nice," Speirs murmurs.
"Thanks." Lipton hums his appreciation. He leans down and kisses the top of Speirs' head. "I want you to sleep on them. They're nice."
Speirs looks up at him, his eyebrows knitted togther in consternation. "I got them for you."
"Then I'll stay?" Lipton asks, tentative. Maybe that's a bridge too far.
But then Speirs nods, and Lipton quickly pulls him to his feet. He scoots over and Speirs lays down next to him. He carefully clasps his hands together over his chest, so Lipton isn't sure what he wants.
"You want me to touch you?" Lipton whispers.
Speirs nods. "My hair again?"
Lipton turns on his side and pushes his fingers through Speirs' hair. It's gorgeously thick and well-maintained, even though they've only recently been able to take showers again. Lipton marvels at the small smile on his face as his eyes slip closed.
Soft clean sheets and Lipton's gentle hands work like a magical spell. Speirs' body melts into the mattress while he quietly murmurs his appreciation. Lipton stares his fill, feeling lucky. He knows Speirs' trust in him means more than the lieutenant bars ever will.
Fandom: Band of Brothers (TV)
Pairing: Speirs/Lipton
Rated: Teen
Word Count: 2,525
Summary: When Speirs chooses Malarkey to lead the patrol, Lipton gets frustrated with him and voices his disapproval. Sure, Speirs is miles better than Dike and he’s been weirdly nice to Lipton, but Malarkey does not deserve this shit.
Speirs is… intrigued by this side of Lipton.
Tags: Episode 1x08 The Last Patrol, Non-sexual intimacy.
A/N: For the
heavyartillery holiday exchange 2025.Fic on AO3
After Webster and Lt. Jones are squared away, Lipton finds the private room that Speirs told him to sack out in. It's got a bed in the far corner that's already been made up with fresh sheets, just as Speirs promised. The sheets have pale blue flowers all over them, and they look like they'd been smoothed out and carefully tucked under the mattress. Lipton tries to picture Speirs putting on the flower sheets himself, but making the bed like this requires patience and a soft touch. He can't quite match either of those traits up with the guy that ran through a storm of bullets to take Foy.
Besides, his lieutenant his far too busy to be making the bed for him. He scoffs at himself for even considering it. His longing for something more intimate with Speirs was making him imagine ever more implausible scenarios. Or maybe he should just blame the pneumonia.
Lipton hesitates at the foot of the bed, and stares down at the sheets. It seems wrong to get in without taking a shower, but he can barely make his legs move, and every step makes his jaw ache, so he decides it's not worth the hassle.
He compromises by laying gently on top of the clean sheets. He's got the blanket Speirs gave him earlier still clutched in his hands, so he pulls that on top of himself and tries to lay as still as possible.
He can't fall asleep yet, because Speirs said he was going to come check on him and Lipton has some shit to say to him. He keeps rethinking their conversation on the couch. It's a sign of respect that Speirs chose Malarkey to lead the patrol to the German outpost. Lipton knows that. Speirs would never choose a man that he didn't think could accomplish the mission, which is why he was never going to pick Lt. Jones.
But he'd asked for Lipton's opinion. Lipton couldn't be completey honest while they were in front of all the brass, but he plans on giving him his honest opinion now, even if it makes Speirs angry.
When Speirs talked to him in Foye, back at thhe Church, Lipton got the impression Speirs was really invested in Easy Company, like he genuinely cared. Maybe that goodwill will mean something now. It should, considering all the shit Malarkey had already been through.
It doesn't take long for someone to knock at his door.
"Come in," Lipton calls weakly. He hates the way his voice shakes, but there's nothing he can do about it.
Speirs steps through the doorway and pulls the door closed. He doesn't come any closer to the bed though, just stands there almost at attention. Lipton wonders if he's doing it on purpose or if that's always how he stands.
"How are the sheets?" Speirs asks.
"You can't send Malarkey, " Lipton says as he uses his elbow to push himself upright. "And they're nice, thank you."
"I believe I'm still in charge of Easy, last I checked. And I'm glad."
"I'm not saying he can't do it," Lipton continues. "I'm saying he deserves a break."
"I've already made my decision. There's no one else who has the experience or the temperament for this. We need to get in and get out, and we need it to go smoothly and quietly."
Lipton's chest feels tight. He has to gasp in order to fill his lungs up with enough air to speak. "He's been through hell, Sir. He's wrecked. You might not know, but he lost his best friends back in Bastogne. The guy needs a goddamn minute."
Speirs levels him with a look that conveys both surprise and contempt. But when he speaks, his voice is calm. "We've all been through hell, Sergeant. Especially you."
Lipton knows this is the point where he's supposed to shut up. He's already pushed Speirs too far. He's not an officer yet.
But he's not afraid of Speirs. Frankly the guy seems like he might be running himself ragged the way he acts like nothing phases him. Maybe he needs a wake up call.
"You asked my opinion and I'm giving it. I think this is a bullshit mission. I didn't think you were the kind of guy to just go along with stupid plans."
Speirs holds up his hand, clear body language indicating that he's heard enough. His eyes are staring Lipton down, looking as angry as Lipton's ever seen him. But Lipton plows on, determined to say everything he'd planned on saying.
"If something goes wrong, that's one more thing Malarkey has to carry when it won't even be his fault. There are other guys. Martin could do this. He's still got some gas left in the tank and he won't fuck it up."
Speirs narrows his eyes and cocks his head. His body still looks just as tense as it did when he walked in the room, but his expression softens and makes him look less severe. For a moment, Lipton thinks he's won him over.
But then Speirs speaks. "Sergeant, that will be all. Enjoy the bed."
Lipton's whole body sags. "At least let me tell him."
"You're sick," Speirs says with a shake of his head.
"Not that sick, Sir."
Speirs huffs, which seems completely out of character for him.
"Fine."
Then he turns tail and leaves. Lipton is fucking pissed and his whole body aches even worse than it did before, but at least he tried.
The weirdest part of the whole thing is that he could have sworn he saw Speirs smile before he left. Lipton is annoyed at himself for finding that smile attractive.
When Lipton tells Malarkey about the patrol, his shoulders hunch in on themselves and he looks impossibly small. Lipton can't find any words to make it easier. Lipton's headache makes it nearly impossible for him to stand upright, so he hastily retreats back to the room Speirs set up for him and passes out. He doesn't know how long he manages to sleep, but a knock on his door rouses him.
"You awake?"
It's Speirs.
"I am now." He scrambles to sit up, even as his chest constricts with worry. Did the boys already leave for the patrol? Has something terrible happened?
Speirs stands just inside the doorway again.
"Normally I wouldn't wake you but I thought you'd want to know. I've been overruled. Malarkey isn't going."
Lipton relaxes. Maybe there is some justice in the world.
"So who is leading it?"
Speirs replies with a smirk. "Martin."
Lipton is not one to gloat, but he doesn't hold back his smile.
"Are you happy now?" Speirs says it with an amused tilt to his voice. It makes it seem like Speirs is teasing him. That thought makes Lipton's stomach flip over in a decidely pleasant way.
"I will be happy once everyone gets back safely."
Speirs nods, solemn again. "They're just about to step off."
He turns around to leave, but Lipton stops him.
"Can you let me know what happens? I'll be up."
Speirs turns around. "Okay."
Lipton collapses against the bed, and turns his nose into the sheets. They smell like soap. When he closes his eyes, he can almost picture himself tucked into a hotel room somewhere, on vacation. The shelling outside is a distant rumble that puts Lipton right to sleep.
Light is filtering through the window when Lipton wakes up. He takes a full, deep breath for the first time in what feels like weeks. Maybe he's turned the corner, finally.
Once his eyes adjust to the light, he realizes Speirs is slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. His whole body is uncharacteristically relaxed. His hair is sticking out to the side, and his arms are crossed across his chest. His face looks soft like this. Lipton is struck again by how handsome Speirs is, which is the same dangerous thought he'd had when he saw Speirs running through Foye.
Lipton shakes himself and then clears his throat. When Speirs doesn't wake up, he does it again but louder. That doesn't work, either.
He sits up and throws the blanket off his legs so that he can set his feet on the floor. His muscles don't ache the way they did the day before.
"Sir," he calls.
Finally Speirs blinks awake and uncurls himself as he slowly stretches out his legs.
"Morning," Lipton says, a little anxious to hear the news. "I thought you were going to tell me how it went right after."
"You were asleep. And you needed the sleep so I didn't wake you."
Speirs' mouth is set in a hard line and he won't meet Lipton's eyes. Something happened, then. Lipton waits, his hands fisted into the sheets at his sides.
"Jackson didn't make it," Speirs says quietly.
"I'm sorry," Lipton says immediately. His body sags from the weight of Speirs' words. He didn't know Jackson well but he did know that he was fucking young. Hell, most of them are, but Jackson had a baby face. Lipton is going to have to check in on everybody and see how they're holding up. No doubt the guys who went on the patrol are going to be feeling like shit.
Speirs shakes his head. "No need to be sorry for me. The patrol nabbed two German prisoners and they blabbed state secrets. Battalion is pleased."
The silence stretches as Lipton starts composing a letter to Jackson's parents in his head. He'll have to help Martin come up with something noble.
"Mission accomplished, then," Lipton says lamely.
Speirs looks up at him and tilts his head.
"Maybe we should talk about yesterday, though."
Lipton doesn't move, even though he figures he's about to get reamed. So be it. He doesn't regreat anything he said.
Speirs gets up from his chair and starts toward the bed.
"You stood up to me." His voice is gentle, not angry.
Lipton puts his hands on his knees and looks up as Speirs comes to stand in front of him, nearly between his legs. As the air between them becomes thick with something Lipton can't name, it dawns on him that they're alone in a fairly small bedroom, where Speirs just spent the night. Now Speirs is looking down at him with his eyes bright and his lips parted, like he's waiting for something.
Lipton swallows, nervous in Speirs' presence for the first time ever.
"Am I in trouble, Sir?"
Speirs cocks his head. "I was surprised that you did that. But no. I was fine with it. Because it was you."
Lipton's tongue is heavy in his mouth. "Oh? Because I'm about to be an officer?"
The corner of Speirs' mouth curves into a small smile, and Lipton wants to touch him there.
"Maybe. I don't know." Speirs shrugs. "You're not afraid of me."
"Of course I'm not," Lipton says. "Why should I be?"
Lipton notices the way Speirs' gaze drops to his mouth. He makes a small, almost involuntary sound in the back of his throat. It reminds Lipton of a moan, but surely his stoic Lieutenant would never make such a noise in front of him.
"Just give me some kind of direction here, Carwood," Speirs whispers, delicate.
Lipton's breath catches in his throat as they regard each other. Now that he's looking, now that his head feels clear, he can see the way Speirs' gaze tracks his mouth. He can see the way Speirs' hands shake ever so slightly. He can see the way Speirs' hips are canted up, mere inches from Lipton's chin.
He's never looked more vulnerable. For some reason, Lipton's never felt more attracted to him. His mouth is dry and his stomach flutters, and he knows neither of those things are because of his illness.
But then, Speirs turns his head away. Lipton feels his guts clench up. He's about to miss his moment.
He grabs Speirs' thigh before he can turn away. As far as moves go, it feels incredibly bold. He knows he made the right decision when Speirs sighs and sinks to his knees at Lipton's feet. He's being even more vulnerable than he was before, and Lipton is floored to be the one that Speirs chose to share this with.
Lipton puts his hand on Speirs' head, and a soft moan escapes from his parted lips.
"Can I just…" Speirs trails off as his eyelids flutter closed.
Lipton touches the corner of his mouth gently, and Speirs leans into the touch. Something clicks for Lipton then. Speirs wants to be touched. He wants to be comforted. It should have been obvious before. The whole stoic machismo thing was a fucking act. At least Lipton is catching on now.
"Yeah," Lipton breathes.
Speirs wraps his arms around Lipton's waist, and rests his cheek on Lipton's thigh. Lipton feels Speirs sag against him as he exhales through his nose. Lipton puts his hands on Speir's head again, runs his fingers gently through his hair until Speirs moans.
"I'm sorry, I don't even know what I'm doing," Speirs says. It breaks Lipton's heart a little that Speirs doesn't think he can ask him for what he really wants.
Lipton holds him down, keeps him there with his hand on his head.
"God, just let me take care of you," Lipton murmurs. "I want to. You can come to me anytime."
"Okay," Speirs answers easily.
Lipton gently plays with his hair and wraps his other hand around Speirs' bicep and tries not to pop a fucking boner in his face.
When Lipton glances over at the flower sheets, he rethinks his earlier assessment. He used to think he was a pretty good judge of character, but he'd misjudged Speirs before. He can be soft and gentle, when he feels safe enough.
"Did you make this bed?" Lipton asks, already confident of the answer.
"I did. I wanted you to have something nice," Speirs murmurs.
"Thanks." Lipton hums his appreciation. He leans down and kisses the top of Speirs' head. "I want you to sleep on them. They're nice."
Speirs looks up at him, his eyebrows knitted togther in consternation. "I got them for you."
"Then I'll stay?" Lipton asks, tentative. Maybe that's a bridge too far.
But then Speirs nods, and Lipton quickly pulls him to his feet. He scoots over and Speirs lays down next to him. He carefully clasps his hands together over his chest, so Lipton isn't sure what he wants.
"You want me to touch you?" Lipton whispers.
Speirs nods. "My hair again?"
Lipton turns on his side and pushes his fingers through Speirs' hair. It's gorgeously thick and well-maintained, even though they've only recently been able to take showers again. Lipton marvels at the small smile on his face as his eyes slip closed.
Soft clean sheets and Lipton's gentle hands work like a magical spell. Speirs' body melts into the mattress while he quietly murmurs his appreciation. Lipton stares his fill, feeling lucky. He knows Speirs' trust in him means more than the lieutenant bars ever will.