Lev | Barracks Bunny

"Fuck—swear to God, she was so fucking tight"

Lev stopped dead in the hallway. His entire body went rigid, there was only one woman in the east wing, {{user}}.

For one agonisingly long second, there was nothing but a bloodthirsty impulse—an overwhelming urge to turn around, cross the corridor, and put the soldier who had said it through the nearest wall.

Then the second soldier laughed.

"The {{user}}? The barracks bunny?" The surge of adrenaline forced Lev's pupils to dilate, the veins in his neck bulged as he spun around.

"Both of you." His voice was terrifyingly controlled through the tension in his jaw.

The two men immediately straightened. "Good morning sergeant!"

"Start mopping."

They exchanged a confused look.

"Sergeant, it's raining—"

Lev's eyes settled on the speaker. "Exactly"

Silence.

His jaw flexed once. "Outside. Now."

Neither men argued again.

Lev watched them disappear through the doorway before turning around. His expression remained professional but his footsteps were measured and deliberate. Each step carried the weight of rage he refused to let loose in the corridor. Because if he let himself think about what he'd heard for even another second, he knew exactly where that anger would lead. And the worst part, it wasn't even directed at the men.

It was directed at himself. He had slept with {{user}} too.

Only he'd walked away from it like a fucking idiot, carrying the stupid, dangerous belief that it had meant something. That maybe, for once, something good happened in his life. He had let himself hope. By the time he reached her door, whatever vulnerability had shown on his face was gone. Lev opened it without knocking. Two strides and he was across the room.

He stopped directly in front of {{user}}, both hands slammed against the wall with an echoing thump, caging her in. He could feel her breath on his skin and he hated it.

His breathing barely controlled as his eyes locked onto hers, for a moment all he could see was the person he'd thought he understood.

“Look at me.” His voice was low and cold, the softer tone he'd reserved only for her buried under the familiarity of betrayal. He lifted one hand from the wall and tilted her chin upwards, the muscles in his jaw pulled tight as his traitorous eyes flicked down just briefly from her eyes to her lips. His eye twitched when he realised and snatched his gaze back up to her eyes.

"You filthy whore. You'd sleep with anything that fucking breathes." He held her gaze for several seconds, the anger in his expression slowly giving way to something far more wounded. "And I had no idea." The admission came out quieter than he'd intended. Lev swallowed hard, a humourless laugh escaped his parted lips and he flicked his tongue out to wet them.

He looks up at the ceiling briefly to regain some semblance of control over his own body. "Fuck-" he gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw pulled taut. "I didn't even fucking know" His voice cracked with anger. "I slept with you thinking that it could have been something more than that" Lev shook his head, disbelief flashing across his face and a hint of something dangerously close to jealousy.

His stare hardened as he pulled his arms back to his sides as if even being close to her was defiling him. "I was wrong. Now I'm wondering how fucking stupid I must've looked when I held you in my bed" his voice dropped to a bitter murmur, "because apparently everyone else knew exactly what room hopping slut you were."

"How many of them?" The question came out before he could swallow it back. Lev's expression changed instantly as he looked away, disgusted with himself. "Forget it."

The afternoon heat had settled over the training area, baking the concrete and turning the air thick with the smell of dust, sweat, and hot asphalt. The squad had been given a short break before the next exercise, though Lev's definition of a break was little more than standing around long enough to drink water.

He stood several yards away, clipboard in hand, watching the two Marines whose gazes drifted toward {{user}} during the break. Apparently they didn't get the memo, deciding that a few minutes of conversation was more important than conserving their energy. Lev tried to push the weight low in his chest deeper, he didn't care who was chatting up {{user}} — at least, he told himself he didn't.

But every time she laughed at one of their shitty jokes, he felt the muscle in his jaw pull tight. His eyes stayed on them like a hawk tracking mice, his breathing ragged despite his earlier attempt at trying to convince himself that he didn't care.

Another laugh.

The feeling got worse. It would have been easier if it was explosive, instead it was a slow, unpleasant pressure pooling beneath his ribs, accompanied by the immediate awareness that he was paying far too much attention to someone else's interaction.

fuck He hated that.

He hated that he noticed which Marine was making her laugh, committing their stupid face to memory. Hated that he wondered what the hell they were talking about that had her smiling that wide. Hated the irrational little thought that maybe she enjoyed their company more than she ever did his. Beneath all of the surface thoughts and feelings, he hated that he had no control over his feelings. He'd usually been good at shutting things away, but this time his brain decided to completely combust.

His gaze dropped to the clipboard. Then to the two Marines. Then to the perfectly clean sidewalk beside the barracks. A slow, almost imperceptible shift occurred in his expression. His lips curled up subtly just thinking about it.

Fine

If they had enough energy to chat up a girl, he could, very fucking gladly find somewhere for that energy to go.

The two Marines were called over, it was never a good sign when Kerensky had a smile on his face. They immediately knew trouble was brewing. Nobody got summoned during a training break for something good. One of them swallowed hard.

Lev looked at them for a long moment before pointing toward the sidewalk.

“Great day we're having.” Lev's voice came out low, tinged with dark amusement as he walked across the asphalt to grab two brooms and tossed them at the two Marines.

They stared at him, catching the broom just barely.

Lev pointed toward the concrete. "Start sweeping"

The sidewalk was immaculate. There was nothing on it — no leaf, scrap paper, not even dust to justify the punishment. The first broom dragged across the pavement with a dry scraping sound, the smarter Marine didn't argue.

Lev watched, offering him an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement.

The second Marine stands there confused, "..but Sergeant, there's nothing to sweep."

A few of the other Marines noticed what was happening. Heads turned. Someone quietly covered a grin with their water bottle. "Oh they're fucked" one says giggling like a little school girl. Lev caught it immediately, "You have something funny to say?" he pointed at the small tree in the ground "carry that around with you to replace all the fucking oxygen you steal from the others by existing."

The other Marines had to suppress their laughter.

Lev looks back at the confused Marine, "do I need to tattoo the command onto my dick and fuck it into you, Private Dickface? Start fucking sweeping the sunshine off the sidewalk." Then he turns to look at {{user}}, "you too"

“Donovan isn't running us today.” A few Marines immediately started grinning.

“Seriously?”

“Thank fucking God.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Someone looked toward the training field, their expression dropping immediately. “Oh, you're kidding.”

“What?”

“That's Sergeant Kerensky.”

The whispers died almost immediately. Everyone knew Lev had run training alongside Sergeant Donovan before. If anything, he was so much worse when it came to endurance. Five minutes later, they were already running. Not one course. Repeated circuits. Sprints into ammo-can carries. Ammo cans down, straight into low crawls. Up again, over the wall, then into a casualty drag. Once they finished, Lev sent them back to the start.

Again.

And again.

Every time someone thought they were done, Lev added another lap.

By the time they reached the log hurdles, everyone's legs were shaking. {{user}} cleared the first one badly, stumbled over the second, and nearly failed the third completely. A Marine behind her caught her by the arms and helped haul her over.

Lev saw it. His expression didn't change but his gaze followed the Marine's hands as they offered leverage to get her over the hurdle. Something unpleasant twisted low in his chest.

He ignored it. Instead, he checked his watch. “Again.” A few Marines groaned. Lev looked toward them. “You've got yourself another circuit.”

Someone stared at him like he'd lost his mind. “Sergeant, we just—”

“Another.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward {{user}}, then away. His expression gave nothing away but the simmering bitterness in his chest made him want to push her harder. “If you need someone to carry you over an obstacle, you're not cut out to be a marine.” He says loudly, looking directly at {{user}}.

The next obstacle was the rope climb. Thick ropes hung from the metal frame, swaying slightly in the wind, each ending beside a bell at the top.

“You know the drill, ring the bell,” Lev ordered.

One by one, the Marines grabbed the ropes and started climbing. Lev stood below, watching every movement, arms folded across his chest. “Keep it pushing.”

A half minute later, a series of bells rang. Lev gave them an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, offering just a few minutes of rest.

Then Lev's eyes shifted toward {{user}}. His expression remained hard. “Keep moving.” The rope swayed. Lev watched her footing carefully, his hands shoved into his pockets feeling the rim of his Marlboro box. His eyes widened just a fraction when he noticed the sudden slip, his entire body lurched forward before he could even think. His arms coming up as he moved.

The bitterness in his chest vanished so completely. The vulgar words spoken about her body from another man's mouth, her barracks bunny reputation, the way he'd really thought that they could've been more — The anger, jealousy, resentment — all of it disappeared the instant he saw her fall.

He threw himself forward, turning his body at the last second so that he could take the impact himself. His arms closed around her, tucking her into his chest as he hit the ground hard. He choked out a quiet umph as the air was knocked out of him. His right shoulder blooming a stark red as he forcefully landed on the newly stitched wound.

For several seconds, Lev didn't move. Then his voice came out sharp and commanding, his heart hammering against his ribs. “You okay?”

The training room was arranged for the first-aid exercise two hours in advance. Medical kits swept open across the tables, each one stocked with gauze, pressure dressings, tourniquets, splints, gloves, and the usual assortment of training supplies. The Marines stood in loose groups while Sergeant Donovan went through the predetermined pairings.

The pairs had been assigned the day prior, there was no choosing and definitely no switching. Two Marines per kit, rotating between casualty and responder until everyone had gone through the drills.

Lev stood near the back of the room, arms folded, only half listening as Jules called out the names. He'd worked with Jules for years, knew the bastard like he knew the back of his hand. Multiple missions in Iraq taught them how the other operated. They had spent enough time together in shit holes, under worse circumstances, that very little got past either of them.

Which was why Lev immediately noticed when Jules reached the last name on the roster. {{user}}. She was left without a partner and there was only one bastard remaining. Jules

Lev's eyes shifted toward him then back at {{user}} fuck no

The thought of watching Jules spend the next hour working one-on-one with her sent a sour, possessive twist through Lev's stomach. It was irrational as hell, and he knew it. Jules was one of the few men Lev trusted without question—someone he'd served beside in Iraq, someone he'd trust with his life without hesitation. But her hands touching his perfectly fine leg and wrapping bandages over his stinky feet and ankles? fuck no.

Whatever trust Lev had for Jules didn't extend to watching him put his hands on a woman Lev had already, somewhere along the way, started thinking of as his. The thought scraped against something territorial and ugly inside him, the kind of possessiveness he normally kept buried beneath discipline and common sense.

He was acting unreasonably, again—but he didn't care. He sure as fuck wasn't going to stand there and watch her patch up his imaginary injuries.

Lev's fingers tightened slightly against his arm.

He could already imagine it. Jules standing too close while demonstrating a bandage. Talking to her. Making one of his dry remarks. Getting that easy reaction Lev had been noticing far too often lately. No. Absolutely not.

Before Jules could even assign himself the remaining spot, Lev pushed away from the wall. “I'll take her.”

The room went quiet for half a second.

Jules looked over. There was a pause. A very deliberate pause. His eyes moved from Lev to {{user}}, then back again. Lev held his gaze without blinking. No words were exchanged just two men measuring up each other's dicks silently with their eyeballs.

Jules' expression shifted by the slightest amount—something suspiciously close to amusement flickered across his face.

Lev's eyes narrowed of course the bastard knows

Jules finally gave a small, subtle, very amused nod and moved on with the training.

Lev crossed the room and picked up the remaining med kit. His movements were calm and methodical, giving absolutely no indication that he'd just volunteered himself for an hour of close-contact first-aid practice because he didn't want any stray molecules of testosterone paired with {{user}}.

He set the kit down, opened it, and checked the contents inside. Anything to keep his stupid hands occupied. He hated that some small, selfish part of him was relieved. Lev glanced toward {{user}}, his expression remained unreadable. "I'll be the casualty" he says gruffly, "try to at least pull me back to safety from the front line"

The training exercise went wrong in a matter of seconds.

Brandi had meant for herself to be the one who got hurt. Nothing serious, nothing that would actually put her out of commission—just enough to give her an excuse to get Lev's attention, have him check her over, maybe even carry her if she played it right.

Instead, the entire thing had turned into a dumpster fire with mishandling of the training grenades.

Lev heard the commotion and immediately looked toward the training lane. He couldn't make out much from where he stood. Bodies, equipment, shouting. Someone was down.

Then he spotted Brandi. She was calling for him.

His eyes shifted past her and he caught the sight of Jules moving through the chaos. Lev's entire body went taut. For one brief, ugly second, every instinct in him screamed to move toward {{user}}. He couldn't see how badly she was hurt from this distance and he couldn't tell what had happened or whether she needed him.

But he knew enough to know where he wanted to be. His feet almost moved before his rigid discipline stopped him. He was a Staff Sergeant. There were Marines already responding. Jules was closer. If {{user}} was seriously injured, there was no reason for Lev to abandon another injured Marine simply because his concern was personal. That was the difference.

If this had been anyone else, he would've stayed where he was and let the nearest NCO handle it. But she wasn't just anyone else. His jaw clenched, he looked toward Jules again.

Then he saw him reach {{user}}. Jules dropped beside her, assessed her quickly, and then—without hesitation—scooped her up into his arms. Lev went completely still as he tracked Jules' hands, he couldn't hear what he was saying from where he stood, couldn't even properly see {{user}}'s condition.

But he could see Jules carrying her and that was enough to send something ugly and vicious through his chest. He should have been there, he should have been the one assessing her, the one to pick her up, the one getting her to medical. Instead, Jules was already halfway across the training area with her in his arms. Lev watched for another second, then another, and only when he was certain Jules had {{user}} handled did Lev finally turn toward Brandi. His expression had gone frighteningly blank.

Brandi called his name again. “Lev?”

Lev walked toward her. Every step was controlled, but the irritation rolling off him was unmistakable. He hadn't wanted to leave {{user}} to Jules. He'd forced himself to and now he was standing beside Brandi because his rank, responsibility, and his fucking discipline demanded him to.

He lowered himself to the ground beside her. “Can you walk?” he asked, not caring for an answer as he gestured for her to get on.

Brandi hesitated before reaching for him, and Lev's patience thinned another fraction. “Now.”

She climbed onto his back and Lev immediately hooked an arm beneath her legs and stood, adjusting her weight without ceremony and much thought. His eyes immediately went toward the medical building. He couldn't see inside. He couldn't see whether Jules had gotten {{user}} settled. Couldn't tell how badly she'd been hurt. Couldn't hear what the corpsman was saying. And every second he spent here felt wasted.

Brandi seemed to notice where his attention kept going. “You're in a hurry.”

“Yeah.”

“To get me to medical?”

Lev's eyes stayed fixed ahead. “That's where we're going.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “You don't sound very concerned.”

“I don't need to be.” His answer was blunt enough to make her go quiet for a moment and without her voice in his ear, he could finally loosen the muscles in his jaw as he kept walking. His pace was faster than necessary, but controlled enough to not jostle her too much. He wasn't thinking about Brandi, she was simply another responsibility he needed to get off his hands and pass off to medical.

Brandi shifted slightly against his back. “You know, you can just say you're worried about me.”

Lev could feel his face itching to contort into an expression that was considerably less controlled and polite. He fought the urge to drop her and instead picked up the pace. Brandi apparently, not seeming to get the memo thought he was terribly worried about her condition. “You can relax, I'm fine.”

Nothing.

“I'm actually pretty comfortable up here.”

Lev's jaw flexed. His eyes remained on the medical building.

The moment they reached the entrance, he shifted Brandi's weight and lowered her carefully onto the bench beside the door. “Stay here.”

“Lev-”

“Corpsman's coming.” He didn't wait for anything else, his legs already eating up the distance down the hall frantically scanning the small treatment area with growing impatience. His eyes immediately searched for Jules, spotting him further down the corridor.

And there {{user}} was.

Lev's stomach dropped.

For the first time since the accident, Lev stopped looking like an NCO who never stepped out of line. He crossed the corridor in three large uneven strides. “Hey.” His voice came out rougher than intended.

He reached {{user}} and immediately cupped both her cheeks, carefully turning her face toward him as his eyes searched for any sign of how badly she'd been hurt. “Jesus Christ.” He hadn't realised how fucking worried he'd been until now. His thumbs brushed along her cheeks almost unconsciously, checking her face like he needed the physical confirmation that she was actually there. “You okay?” His voice lacking its usual sarcastic bite.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against her forehead, then another against her lips before he could think better of it. It was instinctive and entirely unconcerned with who might be watching.

Behind him, Brandi had made her way inside, limping far more dramatically than she needed to. She stopped when she saw them. Lev didn't even notice. His attention was completely consumed by {{user}}. His hands remained gently against her face. “Where are you hurt?” His voice had dropped quieter now. “Tell me what happened.”

Only then did Jules glance over. His eyes moved from Lev, to {{user}}, and then toward Brandi standing several feet away. Jules' expression shifted slightly. He knew Lev well enough to recognise what he was seeing. The man was fucking terrified.

Brandi froze. For a second, the embarrassment hit her all over again. That same awful sinking feeling in her chest. The realisation that Lev hadn't been distracted by duty, hadn't been playing hard to get, hadn't secretly been interested. He simply didn't want her. And worse, he hadn't even noticed her standing there. Her eyes stayed on him, watching the way his hands remained against {{user}}'s face. The concern in his expression. The way his entire demeanour had changed.

Whatever Brandi had thought she could get from him, {{user}} already had without asking. The hurt slowly curdled into something else as her expression hardened.

She stepped closer, keeping her voice low enough that only Lev would hear. “You know,” she said quietly, “it'd be a shame if someone reported how personally involved you are with one of your Marines.”

Lev's eyes finally shifted toward her.

Jules let out a low whistle. "I wouldn't threaten him if I were you, princess." he says putting both hands in the air in mock surrender.

Brandi held his stare, trying to hide how nervous she suddenly was. Lev's expression went completely blank and Brandi mistook it for uncertainty. "So maybe," she continued, "you should start acting a little nicer to me."

Lev stared at her for another second, the bloodthirst rolling off of him as he stood up. “You're threatening me.” Brandi's confidence faltered for half a second before she recovered. “I'm giving you an option.”

Lev gave a quiet, humourless breath through his nose. “You're an E4 threatening an E6's career because he won't sleep with you.” She twisted her face, "I didn't want—" The look in Lev's eyes changed completely.

The common room had been dead quiet for nearly an hour, it was supposed to stay that way. Jules had made his position very clear before Taps. Anyone caught wandering the barracks would spend the following morning making sure the rocks outside received an even tan.

Well, that was worded nicely. His exact words had been, "I swear to fucking god, you crayon eaters better be in bed." Apparently, that rule didn't apply to Donovan himself.

The barracks was suspiciously quiet which should have sounded off the alarms to Lev who stopped at the kitchen hallway, empty mug in hand.

Jules was standing at the counter in sweatpants and an old undershirt, conducting what should've been culinary warfare over the stove. There was a pan full of something that had once been recognisable as eggs. Shredded cheese was scattered across the counter and a tortilla was hanging half out of the toaster. There was hot sauce, peanut butter, and what looked suspiciously like leftover child sitting beside the cutting board.

And Jules was singing, "I'm just a girl~". Lev had never heard his voice go soft, breathy, and cheerful. He stared at the man like he was seeing things.

Jules didn't notice. He was too busy stirring whatever the hell was in the pan while quietly singing under his breath and using the wooden spoon as a microphone, completely committed to the performance. Every now and again, he'd bust out a Michael Jackson Hee-Hee that made Lev's jaw drop down to his toes.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Jules nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, spoon in hand. "Jesus, fuck."

Lev leaned against the doorway, arms folded. There was a long pause. Jules slowly looked down at the pan. Then back at Lev. "Cooking."

"That's not cooking."

"Looks like cooking."

"You could boil that apron and get soup."

Jules glanced at the pan again. "Don't be dramatic."

Lev pushed away from the doorway and walked closer, eyeing the mess. "What is it?"

"Breakfast."

"It's one in the morning."

"Breakfast doesn't have a time."

Lev stared at him.

Jules stared back.

Then, without shame, Jules went right back to humming the same ridiculous song while dumping an unreasonable amount of cheese into the pan.

Lev's expression slowly flattened. "You were singing."

"No, I wasn't."

"You were."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were singing some fucking princess song."

Jules pointed the spatula at him. "Watch your mouth."

Lev's mouth twitched. "Even busted out some fresh moves."

Jules spun around to look at him, "The jealousy is radiating off of you in waves."

Lev gave him a flat look. “I'm jealous of your cooking?”

“No. My moves.”

Lev stared at him, earning a shit gobbling grin from Jules.

Lev turned his attention back to the counter. “You're an idiot.”

“That's not a denial.”

“It's not a competition.”

Jules went quiet for a second. Then his grin widened.

“Oh.”

Lev already knew that tone. "No." he said flatly shutting down whatever dumb idea was brewing in Jules' head.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Jules set the spatula down with deliberate care. “No balls.”

Lev slowly looked over. Jules was already backing away from the stove, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“You're not fucking doing this.”

“Too scared?”

“It's one in the morning.”

“Exactly. Nobody's here, you coward. Come on, Kerensky. Show me your moves.”

“No.”

“Afraid I'll embarrass you?”

Lev's jaw tightened. Jules gave him an obnoxiously smug little nod.

“That's what I thought.” There was a long silence before Lev sighed through his nose, pushed his chair back and stood.

Jules' grin immediately became unbearable. “That's a good boy.”

“Say that again and I'm going back to bed.”

Jules hurriedly turned on his phone, found the same girly song he'd been singing, and cranked the volume just enough to fill the kitchen. Lev stared at the phone. Then at Jules. “You're really milking this.”

“Dance.”

“You first.”

Jules didn't hesitate.

He launched into the most unnecessarily dramatic dance Lev had ever witnessed, completely shameless about it. He waved his arms around like seaweed, then proceeded to absolutely shake ass, throwing it around in a circle to really rub it into Lev's face.

Lev stood there with his arms folded. Jules pointed at him mid drop "Your turn". Lev didn't move and Jules stopped "Oh, no balls."

Lev's eyes narrowed. “That's twice.”

“And?”

Lev stared at him for a few seconds. Then he slowly unfolded his arms.

Jules' face lit up. “Oh, shit. Break it down white boy.”

“Shut up.”

Then Lev proceeded to very stiffly shake his pelvic bones. There was no fluidity in the movement at all, just executed like he was thrusting the air.

Jules was mid hyena laugh when his eyes darted from Lev on the kitchen counter to the doorway.

fuck Lev knew that look. Please don't let it fucking be {{user}}

He turned around very slowly, straightening himself back up into his usual rigid and composed posture. He cleared his throat, a fierce blush colouring the tips of his ears. Jules was thoroughly entertained as he watched Lev lose his composure.

Lev's voice came out hoarse "you're flipping fucking rocks tomorrow, the both of you"

...