have you ever just looked at someone and gotten the strongest urge to kiss them and feel how soft their lips are and how their tongue feels against yours and have you ever wanted to kiss them softly and hold their face in your hands and feel the texture of their lips like wow kissing
Oh. I really like this, actually.
aaaaah I love things like this.
I like thinking the nations are known to a degree by military officials and things like that and are given a whole lot of respect whenever they’re around. *u*
“Who’s that guy?” Private Daniel Rourke whispered to the man beside him as they watched the blond in the leather jacket stride along the lines of new recruits. Even if his hands were shoved into his pockets and the suit he was wearing was more reminiscent of a businessman than it was of a soldier, he carrier with him an air of militant authority.
Before Private Jamieson can do anything more that twitch - it’s a little hard to shrug and salute at the same time - a voice speaks from behind them. To their credit, neither of them jump or start.
“That,” the voice says, “Is Jones. And I hope that you two grow up to be a fraction of the patriot he is.”
As though gifted with preternatural hearing, Jones turned to them when his name was spoken, and the widest, brightest smile any of the recruits had seen stretched his cheeks. Grinning like it was his job, Jones strode towards the voice behind Rourke and Jamieson, throwing his arms out to embrace the whole world.
“Captain Hackman!” Jones said, laughter in his voice. He couldn’t have been a year older than Rourke, “Long time no see!”
“A very long time, sir,” there was a repressed smile in that voice, “It’s Colonel Hackman now.”
“Colonel? Man, where have I been?” Jones had the good grace to look sheepish, even if his smile didn’t dim by so much as a watt. “And who is this fine, upstanding soldier?” Rourke looked straight ahead, but Jones bobbed and weaved himself into his line of vision. The eyes behind those glasses were the most atomic shade of blue, and even more than that sunny smile, Rourke was sure that those eyes were what he was going to remember.
“Private Daniel Rourke, sir!” he barked out, standing stiffly to attention.
“And how are you feeling about the good old U S of A today, Private Rourke?” The way he asked that question, he had to have been an officer. He had to be an officer. But he still looked so young. Except for those eyes.
“God bless America, sir!” Rourke answered promptly, a little smile fighting its way into the twitch of his mouth.
And then Jones said the strangest thing. Terrifyingly blue eyes crinkling happily at the corners and bright with what might have been tears, he said, “And God bless you, too.”