This was the thing that kept me up until 5 AM so while I don't see any spelling errors, I doubt it's coherent. So...yeah...

Title: Temporary Solace
Rating: R
Pairing: Winters/Nixon
Word Count: 1,008
Warnings: Violence, angst, and comfort sex
Disclaimer: Based on the characters portrayed in the Band of Brothers miniseries, not the veterans themselves.
Summary: Coda for "Bastogne" - It could've been worse. It could've been you.

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He knew it was a bad idea, but it was Christmas. A moment of warmth and comfort wasn't going to get anybody killed. Then there was the banshee scream of incoming mortars, and Nixon felt Dick pushing him aside to the ground as the trees exploded around them.

But this time it wasn't Harry who'd been hit; Nixon's legs felt heavy as he ran over to Winters, falling beside him, putting his hands on his best friend's stomach to try and staunch the blood seeping through his uniform. This time it was Nixon who yelled, not Welsh, when Dick started to cough up blood as he put his hand on the side of Lewis's face, and for a moment it had seemed ridiculous that he was the one who needed comforting.

"Lew," he sputtered weakly, paler than ever, and Nixon could feel someone shaking him, grabbed onto his shoulder. He turned sharply to snap at Harry, but it was Dick's voice that came out of the lieutenant's mouth. "Lew!"

He jolted awake, needing a few seconds before recognizing the wide, blue eyes meeting his own, and the fact that the face they belonged to didn't have blood bubbling out of his throat from a mortar hit to the gut. It had been a nightmare, but Nixon couldn't shake the fact that the difference of a few feet could have made it reality. He suddenly felt too hot, feverish, so he tossed the wool blanket aside, actually relishing the feel of the cool earth of the foxhole through his uniform, against his face when he turned a cheek, pressing it against the dirt wall. He didn't like the odd look Dick was regarding him with, so Nix closed his eyes. After a moment he felt Winters sidle up next to him, maneuvering so Lewis's chin was resting on his shoulder, and wrapped the blanket around both of them.

"Harry's going to be fine." Dick's voice was low, even, which Nix found especially soothing.

"It could've been worse. It could've been you," he replied, raising his head to nestle it at the crook of Dick's neck. He wished it weren't so damned cold that Winters needed his scarf wrapped around his head under his helmet, wanting to feel the strong pulse in the other man's neck that meant he was very much alive, that he didn't die several hours ago and this was some shock-induced hallucination.

Winters didn't respond, which was fine with Lewis - he could tell what he was thinking. Just because it hadn't been that time or the countless ones before didn't mean it still couldn't happen. Nixon shuddered at the thought of that day, wishing for his Vat 69 despite knowing the whisky wouldn't keep his thoughts from being so morbid.

Finding himself struck by an impulse - and Lewis had never been known to deny himself any of those - he checked to make sure Dick hadn't fallen asleep on him before pushing himself off Winters's shoulder, working between the blanket and the other man's body until he was positioned between Dick's legs, resting his head on his friend's chest so he could still see his mouth tugging into a smirk as he arched a ginger eyebrow at Lew. "What are you doing?"

Working open Winters's field jacket, he simply supplied, "Listening." He pressed his ear against Dick's chest, relishing in the rhythm of his heart beating. Nix closed his eyes, perfectly content to fall asleep as he was, not caring if anyone were to come looking for them and find them intertwined this way, a position that was too intimate to be passed off simply as soldiers sharing a cold foxhole. He smiled as he felt Dick take one of his hands into his own, drawing it out from under the blankets to place a kiss on each of his fingers, the center of his palm.

He felt Dick's mouth on his wrist before returning his attention to Nix's fingers, the sadistic bastard fully aware of how the other man reacted whenever Dick drew his fingers into his mouth. To hell with getting caught, Nixon thought. They'd behaved themselves since they arrived in Bastogne, and, well, it was fucking Christmas.

An animal moan escaped him when Winters squeezed a knee between Lew's legs, kneading at his groin, before grabbing Nixon by the front of his jacket and pulling him up, forcing him to straddle Dick's lap. Their mouths met hastily, teeth knocking together, which only fueled Nix's growing arousal and, based on the bulge he felt in Winters's trousers as he snaked his arm between them and under the other man's waistband, Dick's desire for him was just as great.

They worked quickly - each man with a hand in the other's pants, the air too cold to do anything else. They kissed with fervor, swallowing moans and gasps of pleasure while hands worked in familiar strokes designed to bring a fast, hard release. Nixon bit his tongue to contain a yelp as he came, Winters soon after with a hitched breath.

Lewis collapsed, his body melting against Dick's, too sated to do anything beyond simply lying there, holding the other man's arm, content to not move as he felt small patterns being traced along his hairline on the back of his neck.

"Do you feel better?" Winters asked, his voice gravelly.

"At least until we're getting shot at by Germans again." He was surprised that he said that without an edge to his voice, but their shared foxhole was starting to get blurry around the edges as Nixon's body started surrendering to exhaustion. He listened as Dick's heart rate calmed and his breathing steadied. Lewis chuckled lightly to himself when Winters started to snore softly, letting himself succumb to the gentle embrace of sleep in his best friend's, his lover's, arms.

He dreamed of New Jersey in the summertime, and Dick was there. They went to the beach and stared out across the Atlantic Ocean, unable to see Europe on the other side.