Trenches

Trenches.

That's where he spent his days, nights, and every moment of his life for the past six months. When their army had pushed into the fortifications, they had hoped to capture the heights quickly, as they had done at Champagne, and force the French to commit their reserves to retaking the position. Instead, what was meant as a quick offensive bogged down into the longest, filthiest battle of the war so far.

Erich had been there for the majority of it, only taking a few weeks away from the front when an artillery shell had struck near his squad's position and the detonation of their ammo reserves drove a chunk of his brother Karl's skull into his leg, nearly causing him to bleed out before the neighboring squad recovered him and another who was almost as fortunate as he. The two survivors of his squad spent the next few weeks in a forward hospital, recovering before being reorganized into another unit that had lost many of their own. Reinhardt was not Erich's favorite person, but it was still good to have someone he knew close as he faced the barrage of bullets and shells every day.

And the days were the worst of it, for Erich was now assigned as a night sentry: staring into the dark with his head barely above the edge of the trench every night, scanning and using the intermittent light created by gunfire and explosions to detect intrusions of the enemy. While largely uneventful (nighttime charges by the French were rare, and most often artillery wasn't used at night because sighting was near impossible), the need to stay vigilant and protect his fellow soldiers made each sunset terrible and each sunrise a blessing.

But the days were the worst of it. Erich was meant to sleep during the day, and was provided a plan set into an alcove in the trench with a blanket and sleeping roll to facilitate this. But the constant chatter of gunfire, the shouting of orders, cries of the dying, and the deep pounding of shells striking no man's land had kept him awake for the first week or so of this duty. He had fallen asleep one night on watch, and was reprimanded severely, the sergeant so angry that Erich worried he'd be executed on the spot. Instead, he was made to bail out the trenches for a week in addition to his regular duties, spending two hours in the morning after each watch knee deep in mud and water until his arms wouldn't cooperate anymore.

The work was backbreaking and revolting, the muddy water fetid with the stink of the dead and the soldier's feet rotting in their boots. But he slept. Every morning after his bailing had ended he was so exhausted that he slept through the sounds of his comrades fighting and dying for a war they barely understood against men that were more often distantly related to them than not.

Now, Erich was used to it. He stayed awake, snacking on rations of small, hard pieces of bread and the occasional piece of salted meat, spreading it out to help it last through the night. Although he could have smoked to pass the time, he had traded his tobacco for more of the canned, salted meat. Many in his company found this strange, but the other sentries understood: the light of a cigarette in the night was easy to sight down a rifle.

Tonight, he was paired with Lars, both of them experienced night sentries (at this stage in the war having a few weeks under your belt made you experienced) and both men of few words. While it was silent in Lars' company, and one would think it would be harder to stay awake, Erich had no such problem. Lars was competent and strong, and Erich felt safe with him at his side. The two of them would sometimes agree to short naps, and Erich trusted that Lars wouldn't fall asleep while he himself was resting.

The two of them stood close together, their feet steady on the board holding them above the quarter meter deep water filling the trench. They looked out over the darkened field together, the occasional ring of gunfire to their left or right as either their comrades off the enemy fired on each other. Despite the threat of violence, little happened in the night and the two passed the first portion of their watch uneventfully.

Nearing midnight, Lars cleared his throat. Erich looked over and waited for his companion to speak, guessing Lars was going to ask for the first rest tonight. Instead, Lars was holding a photograph in his hand. The photograph was small, and one Erich had seen before, of Lars' wife back in Leipzig. She was young, and pretty, Erich supposed, and he understood the pain of missing loved ones. And so when Lars would reflect on this photo, Erich would try to think of something comforting to say, and always fail. Lars never spoke of it, and Erich never asked, but he always wished he could ease the suffering of his comrade... his friend.

"Has she written to you?" Erich was surprised to hear his own voice, the same thought that always came to mind ringing out in the night air, finally voiced. Lars turned to him, seeming equally surprised as he opened his own mouth to speak.

"No, not for two months now, not since hospital." Lars' voice was low, calm, and comforting to Erich despite the thick air of sadness so clearly evident in it. Erich never pushed Lars to speak, but he always enjoyed it when the man did. The voice inspired confidence, and never seemed to broadcast any anxiety or fear, whatever the man it belonged to felt within. This gave Erich confidence, and a feeling of safety in the dark.

"I'm sorry, Lars, and I do not mean to pour salt in the wound." Erich didn't know what else to say as he looked up into the big man's tired eyes. Lars was easily several centimeters taller than Erich, who was relatively short by the standards of his comrades, and Erich always found himself looking up into those dark eyes.

Lars sighed heavily, his body seeming to collapse somewhat under the weight of the topic. The silence dragged on, oddly not increasing Erich's discomfort as he might have expected, but giving the moment a sense of gravity and surprisingly tranquility as the sounds of war fell quiet around them. When the response did come, the tone was a mixture of grief and, oddly, relief. "I knew the letters would stop eventually, Erich. She is young, and I cannot provide what she needs."

Erich thought he understood, if not the exact sentiment then the general idea, and patted his friend firmly on the back, hoping the physical gesture would provide the comfort he meant to convey. Instead, Lars recoiled, as if touched by a fire poker, but quickly recomposed himself when he saw Erich stiffen. Erich pulled back as well, confused and hoping he hadn't embarrassed himself with the familiarity of the gesture.

Both men stared for a moment, now a half meter from each other and neither seemingly aware of what to say next as they stared out into the dark. Lars relented first, his lips opening slightly as if about to speak, closing, and then opening again. His mind seemed troubled to Erich, his body usually calm and still now tight and twitching with some energy, but Erich was patient, and waited without staring for Lars to express his thoughts.

"She doesn't understand me, Erich. I love her, and she me, but she doesn't understand my needs and desires." Lars seemed torn, his forehead and eyebrows wrinkled in emotional turmoil as he tried to explain. Erich waited, but nothing else was forthcoming as Lars' eyes cast around, searching his own mind for words to express what he was feeling.

"What do you mean?" Erich prompted when the bigger man stayed silent, looking to Erich with eyes that seemed at once filled with anguish and desperation.

"I am afraid to say." Lars said as if that settled it, as if such a cryptic statement in itself would make the thoughts behind it clear to Erich.

Erich hesitated a moment, unsure of how to proceed and concerned he was digging too deep into his friend's private life, into a painful history. But his curiosity was too great. "You can trust me, Lars." He said simply, not sure why Lars should trust him but feeling in his gut that it would not matter what his friend said, that he could confess a murder and Erich would still keep his secrets.

Lars looked into Erich's eyes, the calmness normally found in dark blue of them missing, replaced by a roiling sea of fear, similar to that Eric has only seen in the dying. Erich reached out again, this time not to pat his friend awkwardly on the shoulder, but instead to clasp the man's hands in his own.

It was uncharacteristic, odd behavior from Erich, a man who rarely touched anyone and usually felt terribly conscious of his body and its proximity to others. But it felt right, needed, and this time Lars didn't pull away. It was the right move, Erich thought to himself, he had read the situation right and finally done something socially competent for someone he cared about.

That confidence broke when Lars' eyes relaxed, then closed, and his body pushed against Erich's in a powerful hug. Erich froze, unsure of what to do and uncomfortably conscious of the stiffness of his own body and the warmth of the man against him. His mind seemed gone for a moment, the body left holding the metaphorical bag as he tried to make sense of the intimate moment and trusting nature of the embrace.

He returned to his body, to this moment, just as Lars' voice broke between quiet sobs. "Erich I... I crave more than I could have with her." Erich understood the words, but couldn't fathom the meaning, and simply held his friend in the confusing, increasingly warm and comfortable embrace. He felt awkward, unsure of what to do next, but not wanting the contact to stop. It was confusing. He was not good with nuance and wanted to ask what Lars meant, but he sensed it wasn't the time to be himself. Better to be silent and let his friend explain than ask for it.

Lars' voice was near to Erich's ear, mere centimeters away, and yet he still had a hard time hearing the next words. Perhaps this was because Lars kept his voice low, and perhaps it was the rush of blood in his ears as he was distracted by the man's hot breath on his neck. "Have you ever felt close to a man?"

Erich chuckled inside when he heard this. Of course he had! He had many friends back home and always felt close to his younger brother. What a silly question to ask during a moment like this! He had nearly said as much before his mind processed not only what Lars said, but how he said it and what he meant. What the heat against his body meant, what the breath against his neck was doing.

Erich felt the first infiltration of panic sliding into his mind, even as the arousal began to lick like fire at the edge of his uncertainties. The desire and the fear mixed together in a cocktail that blurred his vision and weakened his knees. He had never felt desire for someone, and yet now... He felt weightless and impossibly heavy at the same time. He then saw nothing and heard a strange splashing of water as it went dark.

Erich woke a moment later, finding himself cold and wet for some reason, the dark clouds in the sky above. He was lying on another plank and heard Lars' voice gently pushing into his consciousness over and over until it broke like water over the walls of his mind. "Erich! Are you hurt?" Lars was asking as his face hovered over Erich's, the strange calmness of the man having returned despite the situation.

Erich didn't answer, instead staring deep into those blue eyes again. They were beautiful, dark and cloudy, like a storm over a deep ocean. Erich felt giddy, almost drunk, and barely knew what he was doing when he leaned upward.

Fire. It was a conflagration of pure and terribly hot fire.

He felt their lips touch with a heat he could barely imagine, a long held wish bursting forth into the world on wings of neon, like a sunrise at the end of the longest watch. The heat burned him, begged him to continue, tore at his chains, his restraint, pushing his body up from the cold night of unconsciousness into the bright day of desire.

And then he felt Lars push back. The big man's hands pressing into Erich's hand and shoulder, pushing him hard against the plank as their lips crushed together in a deep embrace.

The attraction had always been there, Erich was just too dense to notice, never picking up on the hints Lars had given. Never noticing how close the man stood to him on watch, the way he would let Erich sleep longer than agreed, the gentle eyes and calm voice washing over him in the night.

But now he knew, and consequences be damned, he wanted this man.

It was night, late, and the other men in his troop were asleep. The nearest sentry was over ten meters in either direction. Erich's free hand slid down between the two men and dug under the bottom of Lars' shirt, the soft hair on the man's stomach feeling like heaven against his fingers. He pressed with that hand, pushing into Lars' warm body and then pulling the shirt up as Lars did the same with his, their stomachs and chests pressing together in the damp as their lips remained locked.

Erich's hand drifted further downard, finding Lars' belt and then sliding between his warm flesh and the cold of his trousers, pushing past the man's pubic hair, thick and unkempt in these months at the front, and finding the burning rod of his cock. It felt huge in Erich's hand, easily larger than his own and harder than the iron barrel of his rifle, pulsing with life and arousal as the two men pressed together in the dark.

Erich repositioned himself, pushing his body slightly out from under Lars' and began to stroke the man's cock in his pants. Lars' breathing quickened and their lips broke, his eyes wide as they stared deep into Erich's. The two men focused on each other's eyes in the silence as Erich felt the entire length of Lars over and over, up and down, slowly tracing each detail as the man's breathing quickened with each second. He was relishing this moment, delighting in the pleasure he was giving Lars and the feeling of such a powerful shaft under his hand, the only one besides his own he'd ever felt.

Lars shuddered, his strong body shaking as he exhaled heavily. Erich felt the cock stiffen, pulse, and unload a deluge of hot liquid onto his hand and wrist, bursting out from between his fingers. Erich gaspd, delighted and surprised by the burning cum coating his flesh as he kissed Lars deeply again, stroking the man and using the cum as a powerful, sexy lubricant.

He felt strong, incredibly confident, and right, doing this. He pushed Lars over and climbed on top of him while never letting the man's cock go. He barely understood his own intentions, and felt like he wasn't directing his own actions as he kissed Lars' neck, pushing him closer and closer to another orgasm with each stroke. The cum felt hot and slick in his hand, driving him onward as he stroked harder and faster, feeling an overwhelming urge to bite Lars' neck. He gave into that urge seconds later as Lars grunted with effort, trying to stay quiet and weakening with every stroke.

Erich bit into the strong muscles of Lars' neck, not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to feel the power and resistance in it. Erich's eyes nearly rolled back in his own head as he felt the big man stiffen again, and another beautiful spring of hot liquid pushed and squeezed out from between his fingers, coating them both again. Erich almost squealed in delight at this, and felt his own cock stiffen and slowly pour out its contents in his pants, his own arousal too powerful to ignore as he pushed himself against Lars' leg and let go.

Both men collapsed into a heap, Erich's smaller frame draped over Lars' as a cool breeze blew in from the East. Erich rested his head on Lars' chest, his ear pressed against the big man's sternum and listened as the pounding heart, seconds ago racing with desire, began to slow as both men wound down together from the powerful experience.

Erich kissed Lars gently on the cheek, and then again on the lips when Lars turned to him. He then stood, slowly and unsteadily, before helping Lars up to his feet. The two of them said nothing, and simply made their way back to their post, their bodies closer together this time as they stood watch.