Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/481154.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Deathwatch_(2002)
  Relationship:
      Charlie_Shakespeare/William_McNess, Charlie_Shakespeare/William_McNess/
      Doc
  Character:
      Charlie_Shakespeare, William_McNess, Doc_-_Character, mentions_of_others
  Additional Tags:
      bumming, awful_pornz, charlie_and_mcness_are_in_luuuurve, charlie's
      underage_in_some_countries
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-08 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3510
****** third part of man ******
by poziomeczka
Summary
     Charlie goes down in the trenches....
***** Chapter 1 *****
The fingers in his hair are gentle but insistent, stroking through the damp
strands, scraping his scalp encouragingly. Charlie smiles meekly, rubbing his
cheek against the heated rigid flesh, eyes closed. Pleased.
MacNess's breath is a bare puff in the rain-soaked air, hitched low in his
throat as he watches him with half-lidded eyes. There's something in them.
Tenderness even, some sort of vague admiration that warms Charlie deep, makes
him want to please the man. Show that he can be good. So good for him.
He laps at the head, already sleek with fluid, it's salty and a little bitter,
nothing like Tate oddly enough and Charlie knows it shouldn't surprise him. It
is not altogether unpleasant and Charlie wants it. Wants to give MacNess this.
This, and whatever else MacNess will have of him. He pushes the foreskin back
with his tongue, experimentally, and moves to suckle at the head.
MacNess's hips surge forward and Charlie lets out a startled gasp.
"I'm sorry" MacNess gruffs out, sounding winded and hoarse, like it's been torn
from him. "I'm sorry Charlie."
Charlie splutters like an indignant kitten, pulling himself back. He looks back
on MacNess, his vision slightly blurry from the unshed tears that sprung to his
eyes. The other looks dazed, kind but also impatient. Charlie swallows visibly
and licks his lips, reveling in the lust that darkens the Scot's face. He likes
it. He loves it. Being wanted like that. It warms him in places he thought he'd
never be warm again.
His skinny little fingers come to embrace the root of MacNess's cock to stroke
lightly, unconsciously teasing. It's beautiful, Charlie thinks, thick and
strong just like the rest of him and god, Charlie wants it. Wants all of it. In
his mouth, in his arse, spilling between his thighs like Jennings did that
first time he had him, silently between the blankets. Like a thief.
" 'S okay", he says, voice thick with tears or maybe just his own lust, and he
wraps his lips around the flushed tip. Red, angry with neglect.
He sucks eagerly, lost in his own sensation, finding the little bundle of
nerves, the way Tate showed him, rubbing at it with his tongue, listening to
MacNess's sharp intakes of breath as he strains underneath him in barely
contained pleasure.
He's holding back. He's holding back for him. For Charlie. For Charlie who left
a man behind because he was scared, so scared. For Charlie, who should have
been shot for this.
To think that this powerful man, so exhausted with this, tired of this war,
this life, is holding back just for the sake of his mere comfort. That he
refused to take it fully, the only thing he was allowed to take for himself. It
makes Charlie's heart swell with something more than just desire and gratitude.
He moves down slowly, breathing through his nose as best as he can and sinking
down as far as he can as MacNess trashes beneath him, desperate
charliecharliecharlie spilling from his mouth. He's struggling not to push his
hips up into the warm welcoming heat of Charlie's mouth, MacNess's hip twitches
frantically under the boy's splayed palm.
Charlie can practically feel the other man's fevered thinking.
He wishes he would stop and just fuck his mouth like he wants to.
Charlie would let him.
He sucks harder, sleeking the length with his saliva, taking the thick hard
flesh, burning on his tongue, oozing salty fluid that Charlie swallows eagerly,
humming with pleasure, wanting more of it, now that he's had a taste. He works
his mouth down to meet his fingers, trying to open up his throat the best he
can, sucking harder, tonguing the underside as if worried he missed a path,
finding that little gem of nerves that makes MacNess melt, trembling and
straining underneath him, making Charlie, sweet helpless little Charlie, drunk
with power.
"God, fuck, fuck, Charlie, Charlie, fuck--"
He pulls off almost completely, MacNess groaning low in his throat at the loss.
His cock is red and angry, leaking heavily now, the liquid dripping down the
hard, thick length, smeared rhythmically by Charlie's skilled fingers. It
brings him hard aware of his own cock, straining heavy and full with blood in
his grainy army trousers; he knows that it wouldn't take much, that were he to
palm himself through the thick material it would all be over in a heartbeat,
he'd gasp and moan, curl onto himself shivering, embarrassed, like that first
time Hawkstone put a hand to him.
Instead he presses a long, lingering kiss to the tip, his pretty pink mouth
touching the rim with just a shadow of a smile. He looks up on MacNess through
his wet, sandy eyelashes and the look on MacNess's face makes heat pool
impossibly hotter in his belly.
"Fuck. Yer sucha fuckin' tease--" and he doesn't sound or look irritated, more
breathless and taken aback than anything else.
MacNess looks about as incredulous as he is aroused, and Charlie feels that
perhaps he himself should be surprised. At how much he loves it. This. Being
MacNess's eager little whore.
He knows they call him that. He's heard them.
It should shame him, but it doesn't. He wants to be exactly that. He just
wishes MacNess would see. Would see that it's okay to take, to use, to want.
Because Charlie wants it too. Why can't he have it?
"You can do it, you know" Charlie says, trying to sound serious but coming out
just plainly earnest and so desperately young. "Fuck my face."
I know you want to, I can tell you want to, I can feel you want to, he wants to
add.
But MacNess, stubborn, stupid, loving MacNess shakes his head, wearily. Like it
takes him some inhuman effort to do it. And Charlie sets his face defiantly,
not caring if he looks like a petulant child.
It's like that first time all over again. He refused him that first time,
refused when Charlie asked to be taken. He laughed that throaty, harsh laugh of
his and rubbed Charlie off through his trousers, had him coming in minutes,
whimpering and shuddering and so very sixteen and a half.
Setting his jaw in determination, he sinks back down, to the hilt this time,
meeting the circle of his fingers at the root. The blunt head bumping the
spongy back of his throat. If MacNess won't do it then so be it, he's perfectly
capable of doing it himself.
"Fuck, fuck, goddamn you, Shakespeare" MacNess moans, voice angry and as thick
with desire as Charlie ever heard him "You stubborn little shit".
Charlie snorts a laugh, hums happily as he bobs his head, knows it won't be
long for either of them. That he can come just from this, just from the feel,
the taste of cock. There are hands on his hips and Charlie's spine stiffens and
MacNess's cock bobs free, slapping wetly at Charlie's open mouth. Drawing a
shaky, cautious breath, he expects the absolute worst.
No no no no please let it not be Quinn, let it not be Quinn no no no no anyone
please
It can't be Quinn, he keeps telling himself over and over in those brief slow-
downed moments, had it been Quinn he'd be face first in the mud, fucked without
mercy, his whole body jerking, recoiling from the stabbing thrusts. He'd be
bruised and battered, blood trickling down his thighs, down to his knees mixing
with mud, swirling in the slush.
Those hands are quick on his trousers, fingers gentle but efficient on the
fastenings and a melodious voice follows:
"Shh shh Charlie", Fairweather says, and Charlie almost laughs at how
distinctly Welsh just those few syllables sound. He's giddy with relief.
"It's me." The doctor's hands push down at his trousers and he helps, shimmying
happily out of them, hissing a little as his own hot, blood-thick cock meets
the chilled air.
"God, just look at you", he hears Doc whisper above him, his hand exploring his
lower back, stopping by the moles scattered there, brushing excruciatingly slow
past his arse; he feels his hole pulse in answer to the light caress. "Just
look at you."
He bites his lip and looks straight at MacNess, meeting the heat in his eyes
with his own, in their private challenge. He wants his hole tender and bruised
on fat cock, and he's going to get it and if MacNess won't do it, then he'll
have it one way or another.
Fairweather brushes his hands over him, doctor's hands, less calloused than
those Charlie's grown so used to, he cups one of his arsecheeks, caressing the
perk pink flesh and Charlie pushes back impatiently, eyes still firmly on
MacNess, his fist still pumping his dick, not willing to part with him even for
a second. And then there's a slap that has Charlie gasping and hissing with the
sharp edge of pain, pushing back despite it, the smack echoing loudly in the
cold, crisp air like a whip crack. Another one. And another one. Until his
knees are shaking and he's sobbing for one of them to please do something
please please, pre-come spilling from the plum of his cock.
MacNess strokes his hair, moving from his prone position to kiss at the side of
the boy's mouth. He raises himself fully, his straining dick level with
Charlie's, and Charlie doesn't think twice before lapping at the flesh, sucking
it into his mouth as finally, finally the fingers in his hair tighten and
MacNess's hips set a jaw-numbing, delicious pace. He knows he's going to come
just from this and he thinks he should feel a little abashed, at showing
MacNess how much he has craved it, but before he knows it there's a hand on his
cock, not even stroking, just cupping, and he's coming, taken by surprise, his
pleasure soft and languid, engulfing him like an afterthought as his whole body
shudders with it, and he spills against Doc's expert hand and his own belly,
keening around MacNess.
"There there, Charlie" Doc says, kissing down his back, "that'll make it easier
for you".
He takes his dripping fingers from Charlie's dick, it gives him a sad half-
hearted twitch at the parting, but before Charlie has time to even groan in
disapproval two wet fingers push into the tight heat of his arse and he pushes
himself back, trembling, and clutching onto MacNess's stuttering hips for dear
life. He pulls back, making MacNess curse, licking wide wet stripes across his
cock and mouthing at his balls, as Doc works his fingers into him, scissoring
him open, his own come wet inside him.
Charlie pushes back, hissing and gasping, as Doc finds that sweet little spot
deep inside him, the one that makes everything go sharp and white with sparks
of pleasure; he can already feel the familiar tightness in his sack, his cock
already beginning to fill, too soon, it's almost painful but not enough for him
to want it to stop.
***** Chapter 2 *****
He swallows MacNess again, moaning encouragingly at his shallow thrusts.
"Do you know, MacNess" Doc says, breaking the heated silence of their panting
breaths. It's far from being a question, the tone almost conversational, but
even Charlie can tell there's a tremor in his voice, and moments later,
Fairweather withdraws his fingers only to replace them with the blunt head of
his wet ---slicked with Charlie's come-- cock and he can feel his hole, eager,
wanting, pulsing in response.
"Do you know MacNess--", Fairweather repeats, rasping this time as he pushes
in, making Charlie shake like a newborn colt. "Do you know he whines for you
when the others fuck him?"
And Charlie wishes he had it in him to protest, but all he can do is moan, in
some perverse combination of humiliation and pride, and suck MacNess with
renewed enthusiasm. In confirmation.
"He whines for you every—ah--time", Doc gasps, as his hips surge deep inside
Charlie's greedy little hole and the boy keens, low and long in his throat.
Yes, yes, yes more, he needs more of this "He whines for you like a little
bitch."
Fairweather starts rocking his hips in earnest now, stretching Charlie open on
his dick, sending him flying forward, straight into MacNess. It's too much, too
much sensation with MacNess's musky scent overwhelming him and Doc pounding
into him, his normally caring hands pressing marks into his sides. It's good,
so good with MacNess's rasping, harsh breaths above him and Doc murmuring
nonsense into his skin as he ruts with sharp stabbing thrusts, not even pulling
out anymore, his left hand drifting from its tight grip on Charlie's hipbone,
to the boy's shoulder to clasp onto, pushing him back onto his cock, and
Charlie can feel his consciousness slipping from him.
MacNess tugs at his hair urgently and tears himself away, and Charlie sobs out
his disapproval, not even aware he's doing it.
It's not until then that it hits him what he's been lacking. He inhales
suddenly, gulps down deep, frantic breaths through his mouth, and the icy
spikes of oxygen scratch his lungs, the world sharpening up around him again.
MacNess kneels down in the dirt, right in front of him and, no no no, it's all
wrong now Charlie thinks feverishly. He wants it he needs it, he wants MacNess
where he was and he's going to be good, he promises, he really will be---
The man laughs, sinks both of his large calloused hands back into the boy's
hair.
"Breathe, you idiot" he says, kissing up Charlie's temple and brow, a peck on
the side of his freckled nose.
With a furious jolt of his hips, Fairweather sends him crashing into the solid
plane of the Scotsman's chest. Charlie's shaking arms, finely muscled for
someone so young, give out and he nearly falls face-first into the dirt, but
MacNess catches him, like he always does, and Charlie wraps his arms around him
tightly, anchoring himself, cheek pressed against MacNess's neck, nested
between the juncture between his neck and shoulder. And Charlie clings to him,
doing his best to push back into Doc, proud of the harsh hisses he gets in
return and he pants, an open-mouthed puff of air against McNess's sweaty
shoulder as Fairweather leans in, covers him back to chest, mouthing blindly at
the moles on the flushed skin of Charlie's back and rams repeatedly into his
prostate, relentless. Sharp, white sparks of pleasure down his spine. He
writhes and keens with it.
"Yes. Fuck it, yes please fuck it. Yesyesyesyeys. Fuck it. Please, fuck. Please
please more", it spills out of him in a litany of pleas and curses. "Please, I
can take it. Icantakeit. Harderharder nnghhh please p-please".
MacNess holds him tight, nibbles at his ear, strokes his hair, murmurs little
encouragements, keeps him awake, conscious whenever he starts to slip out of
it. Doc's pace falters and he comes with a groan, shoots deep inside the tight
heat and his hands slip on Charlie's sweat-slicked skin, Charlie gropes behind
him, squeezing Doc's arse, pushing him deeper, riding it out with him.
Fairweather slumps against the boy, worn out with the extent of his pleasure.
He leaves small biting kissed down Charlie's back as he withdraws with an
obscene wet pop and Charlie misses him already.
"Such a good boy, Charlie" Doc says and he can hear the wide, sated smile in
his voice.
MacNess grabs him by the buttocks, come oozing out of him, pulling him onto his
lap, and Charlie doesn't hesitate, climbs all over him like a litter of
kittens, wrapping his limbs around him and rising his hips eagerly to take
MacNess's dick in. To sink down in one smooth stride. But MacNess has other
plans apparently, as he grabs his narrow hips, keeps him in place, settling
them both comfortably and wraps a hand around them both, stroking them in a
practiced, steady rhythm.
"Nonnononono", Charlie protests, his voice breaking. "Nono. MacNess. I want
you. I want you deep. Please."
"Charlie, Charlie--" he starts, more than a little shaken.
And Charlie topples them over, earning a gasp of surprise, pushing MacNess's
back into the dirt, and he slides down, in one smooth motion, his body content
and open for MacNess. He sighs happily as it fills him perfectly, setting each
and every nerve alight. MacNess chokes on a breath, arching underneath him,
overwhelmed, and Charlie looks down at him with wide, adoring eyes, and MacNess
meets them and there's so much frustration about this boy, this wonderful boy
that just crawled into his life, giving and demanding and giving a shit about
him for a change, and there is so much love, so much much love in those gray
eyes that Charlie can't help but screw his own shut in defence. Feeling like
he's bound to burst into flames under that heated gaze.
He starts to move, rocking his hips steadily in sweet low-burning torture,
relishing in the feeling. How full, how good it feels. That's where MacNess
should be, that's where he should always be---
"How would we walk?", MacNess breathes out a weak laugh, and Charlie realizes
he must have said that aloud.
"We'd find a way", Charlie retorts, his face pinched in concentration as he
lifts himself up and falls back down, finding a pace. His own neglected cock
throbs painfully as it leaves trails over MacNess's belly, and Charlie rides
him, sucking in his plump lower lip, eyes thinning out, exquisite in his
ecstasy. MacNess meets him, thrust for thrust, clutching at the boy's sides as
Charlie claws down his chest, wilder with each forceful push that sets him
aflame, growling low and feral in his throat, beyond language.
"God, Charlie", MacNess whispers, in awe, and his large hands travel up,
leaving the boy's hips, pinching a nipple, squeezing his thin shoulder as this
goddamn kid, that will clearly be the death of him, goes into a frenzy. "So
fucking beautiful, god I-- you drive me fucking nuts---"
He reaches for Charlie's blushing cock, boyishly plump, a decent size for
someone who's had maybe two proper growth spurts to his name, and tugs, but the
boy bats his hand away.
"No", Charlie says, hoarse, like speaking goes through him, his voice eerie to
both MacNess and his own ears. "I can---I want---"
Just this., he wants to say. Wants to tell MacNess that this is the happiest
he's ever been. That this is enough to erase all the others. Erase Starinsky,
Quinn, Tate, Hawkstone. Erase Jennings's clumsy fumblings and Doc's caring,
gentle hands. Make it all invalid. Like, like a do over. Make it good. Make it
just them. So he can kiss MacNess under an apple tree like he's dreamt of
doing, and squeeze his large hand when they go visit his wife's grave.
And if he can come. Just on this. Maybe somehow all of this can happen. They
can be enough.
He does, nuts off like a rocket, howling his release as MacNess grabs him by
the hips again, his thumbs settling in the little groves just above his arse,
and flips them over. Kissing Charlie deep, taking everything there is to take,
everything Charlie offers. They shudder together, fucking out their
aftershocks, surging through them like darts. They gasp in each other's mouths
with MacNess rubbing gentle circles into the boy's bruised hips, fascinating
patterns of purple already starting to blossom. He places a single sweet kiss
to the middle of his sweaty, rapidly cooling chest, and Charlie's eyes flutter
shut despite his best efforts.
When he wakes, not long after, he can tell from the heaviness of his eyelids,
he's warm and more comfortable that he's been in what feels like a lifetime.
He's wrapped in a blanket and clumsily dressed in his too-big clothes, his head
lolled back on MacNess's shoulder. He swallows, his throat dry and sore from
all the screaming. MacNess smiles above him, his prickly beard tickling his
forehead, and he smiles back shimmering with happiness and reaches to pet it
affectionately.
"Thank you", he says, hearfelt, and knows that he would never be able to muster
the words to convey what he means, but he thinks that MacNess understands him,
comprehends what this is as Charlie hears him swallow silently.
He checks his surroundings through his lashes, and realizes that the other
warmth comes from the doctor, that he's tucked safely between them and he
raises his head sleepily, his hand stroking Doc's cheek, and he moves to kiss
him chastely on the lips.
"You're welcome", Doc says, winking and answering Charlie's cheeky grin with
his own. "Least I could do".
And Charlie reclines, his back melting in the heat of MacNess's wide tartan-
clad chest, his legs across Fairweather's knees, and he drifts into his dreams
of dwarfish apple trees and wide Scottish fields as Doc and MacNess whisper
together well into the night.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!