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Dances with Tigers (10)

1 .

I'm making a separate thread here because I know everyone would kill me if I bumped Reed Fields before an actual update. Again.

Not beta'd, not thought through, not giving a fuck.

This is all IdleWaffling's fault.

-

Sniper wasn’t a stupid man. When RED approached him with a contract, he knew there would be complications. Every job had its unforeseen twists, and growing up as a poofter under the same roof with someone as violently straight as his father had taught him everything there was to survival. He needed armor--professionalism, solitude, and stories of false conquest and contempt for the other sex. Every one was a layer of camouflage essential to evading the suspicions of the other mercenaries. Because, God knew, once that seed had been sown, it was impossible to be truly safe again. His scent had been caught and they would follow it until they found the truth, and plied away every lie he had draped himself in. Sniper knew what happened to men like him if they were discovered. His father had shown him, once, when his mother had been away.

It had been very final.

And then the BLU Spy had entered his territory. A man whose build was compact and borderlined on slender. Who fussed over his clothes, smoked fancy cigarettes, and flirted scathingly with anyone around him. Sniper made the mistake of killing him on the first day Spy arrived, and so caught his attention. The Spy came for him immediately. Not quiet and clever like RED Spy, but with animalistic speed and ferocity. The back of Sniper’s neck tingled in warning just before Spy swung down from the roof’s edge and tackled him with an ease borne of familiarity. Even then, pinned to the floor with a knifepoint hovering over his right eye, he had wondered how Spy could act like he did and survive unscathed.

Looking into that face, Sniper saw a tiger among jackals.

Spy eyes had a primal intensity and despite his relatively slight build, he made Sniper feel small and vulnerable. The Spy bared his teeth in a smile, cigarette caught between his teeth like a piece of bone, and congratulated him on his skill. Then he flicked the butterfly knife across Sniper’s cheek and nose, and vanished as quickly as he had appeared. It had been then, and only then, that Sniper realized he had an erection. The lingering scent of Spy’s fancy cologne tormented him and he had broken one of his rules of survival. He turned his back on the fighting, on his team, and masturbated until orgasm rolled through him like thunder. Sluggish and languid, he had turned back to situation only to find it totally out of control. Shouts of rage and triumph echoed between the bases as BLU Spy sprinted away with RED’s intel. Afterwards, there was a mixture of rebuke and curiosity over Sniper’s dismal performance. Most terrifying, though, were the questions about his new wound, which would most certainly scar despite Medic’s intervention. He had been marked. They asked and asked about it, but he had no answer.

Sniper’s camper was the only realm of true safety. There, he could live suspended on the edge of civilization like he was used to, and be true to his nature without jeopardizing his life or, more importantly, his reputation. He hunted in the dusk light, when the wind was pleasantly cool against his skin, and caught two hares in the snares he had set out the day before. While the others were eating astronaut food, he prepared a cooking fire and then made a stew. A recipe he had learned from his mother, who has the only other human being he could trust to keep his secret. And when the air had cooled some more and the fire gave off a pleasant heat and an even more pleasant smell, Spy appeared. He approached from around the side of the van and quietly padded up to Sniper with an assessing expression. He was the essence of politeness and asked to join him to supper, holding up a half-empty bottle of whiskey as an added incentive. Sniper said no, or at least tried to, but his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. His silence was enough to tempt Spy to sit down beside him. They shared the whiskey and the stew, each eyeing the other.

Then came the moment that thrilled and terrified Sniper. He stared at Spy, who simply stared back at him, waiting. Those were the moments where he had to abandon his defenses, to venture unarmed into the open, in order to attain what he had desperately craved for all of his adult life. Sex with another man. Something considered so vile and inhuman that such a man could be surreptitiously disposed of with little reprisal. He knew. His father was living proof. Maybe Spy saw his doubt, his shame, because he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Sniper’s forehead. The press of lips with a menace of teeth and an intoxicating wave of cologne. Sniper pulled their faces into alignment and covered Spy’s mouth with his own. He tested stew, cigarettes, and maleness. Felt chapped lips. The brush of stubble. Hot breath. A growing pressure in his jeans. One he felt answered in Spy’s trousers. Sniper pulled away and grappled for his common sense. Spy was half in his lap, breathing heavily, eyes bright and unblinking, and totally compatible. He untangled himself from Spy’s grip, smothered the fire, and took the remnants of the stew inside. As he had hoped, Spy followed him and nosed around until he found the bed. Sniper began to rinse the dishes to buy himself time to think, but Spy returned, reached across him, shut off the water, and led him into the back.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t whisper bullshit to each other. Sniper was familiar with the code of conduct. It was a rare opportunity to find satisfaction with a compatible person and by God he needed it. There was no space between them. He grabbed Spy’s jacket and tugged it off. Belatedly, it occurred to him what he was doing was extremely dangerous. It could all be a ruse. Spy could turn on him at any moment. He pulled back and took a deep gulp of air, only to be dragged into an open-mouthed kiss that turned his legs to jelly. He felt the danger; all the strength and confidence of a top predator, and it sent a thrill up the best of his cock. Spy’s hands made short work of his jacket and tore at the buttons lining his red shirt. He returned the favor. He had a small height advantage and used it. They became a volatile tangle of limbs and clothes. Sniper’s underwear was caught on his foot and he kicked it off to the side. He palmed Spy’s back, felt the smooth curve of his spine and the tickle of hair, and then cupped one buttock. He wanted to tear that stupid mask out of the way, to nose and explore where he pleased, but instinct warned him against it. The hot velvet slide of Spy’s penis against his was enough to distract him from that irritation. He thrusted slowly and was rewarded with a sharp exhalation. The flex of muscles against him was intoxicating. Fingernails dug into his flesh and he groaned, astonished at the sudden pain, and caught Spy’s satisfied grin.

Whatever restraint Sniper had snapped. He shoved Spy onto the bed and trapped him there, hands roving for every inch of flesh. The bed groaned piteously. He didn’t care. He absolutely positively did not give a rat’s arse. Spy’s mouth latched onto his neck like a lamprey and teeth scraped against his stubble in warning. Sniper understood. He fumbled for the dresser and the lube hidden inside the first drawer. It was painful to pull away from Spy’s undulating body and he avoided eye contact while doing so. An enormous mistake. He had no sooner grabbed the lube when Spy grabbed his throat and forced him to meet his eyes. He understood, then. No backing away. No cowardice. He apologized with a hard kiss. It was enough. Spy guided his fingers down and dictated how quickly and how much Sniper stretched him out. He applied a liberal amount of lube to his erection and guided himself into Spy’s body. His breath hitched. Muscles clenched around him--Spy hooked his ankles together behind his back.

They moved in tandem like a well-oiled machine. Sniper grabbed Spy’s hips and set a savage pace. Pulsing heat clutched his cock like a vice. He growled in ecstasy and stared into Spy’s eyes, satisfied to see the pleasure was mutual. The bed creaked loudly, but Sniper could hardly hear anything over the soft gasps Spy made. He focused all his will on eliciting more of them, and thrusted at a different angle. Spy arched and shut his eyes, smiling, and started to masturbate. It wasn’t enough. Sniper went deeper, then withdrew, then plunged deeper again at random intervals until Spy braced his feet on the wall behind them and met each thrust with equal force. Their flesh slapped together, they moaned, and the bed creaked. It was bloody music to Sniper’s ears. He felt Spy go taut like a piano wire and willed himself not to cum. It was nearly impossible. Spy’s body nearly achieved a perfect arch when orgasm hit. Sniper clenched his teeth together and thrusted with all his strength. A powerful tingle started at the base of his spine and swept through his abdomen. Spy’s legs tightened around his waist. It hurt. He didn’t care. A white-hot bolt cleaved through his groin. He burned from the inside out, and finally, finally, he hit the mind-blanking haze of orgasm.

It continued as such. By day, they killed each other. By night, they shared a meal and a bed. Sniper enjoyed the routine for six years. Spy was a man of action in battle, but after the day’s slaughter was done, he turned inquisitive and sociable. They talked, debated, and sometimes just sat in silence. It had been a happy, soothing six years. Spy was the man who could slice off someone’s nose for dirtying his suit, but he was also the man who snored and farted in Sniper’s bed. And then the war ended. RED won. It had been so sudden, so shocking, that Sniper hadn’t thought of the consequences beyond that. If he had been honest with himself, he would’ve admitted to missing Spy. Instead, he hung around for a few days after the BLUs had surrendered, but when Spy didn’t turn up with the rest of the BLUs, he decided to cave in to his mother and go back to Adelaide. He had become a rich man and for the first time in his life, he went first class.

Spy was there, of course. In mask and suit, and looking exotic and dangerous in his childhood home. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Sniper could only stare in disbelief as the man he had killed and fucked for the last six years stood by his mother in the kitchen and gave advice how to cook something French. His father sat at the table and read the newspaper, but a growing suspicion was stamped on his face. Sniper knew a conflict was imminent. All three looked up as he walked in the door. His mother dropped everything and enveloped him in a hug so full of unconditional love that it made his eyes sting. He returned it fiercely. Spy was next and planted himself between his mother and his father. Sniper knew what was about to happen, but didn’t move to stop it. How surreal it felt, to have Spy’s mouth pressed against his at home, in the place where he had grown up fantasizing about it. All the while living in terror that his parents might discover his true nature. He heard his father’s indrawn breath. Felt his mother’s anxiety. He tried to pull away, but Spy held him still for three heartbeats longer. Then he turned and bared his teeth, looking at his father like a tiger would regard an intrusive scavenger. Before his father made any move towards the knife in his back pocket, Spy lunged forward and grabbed his father’s head in neck, and bore him to the floor. Sniper had killed men in much the same way. Ambush him, flatten him on the ground, then snap his neck before the poor bastard could make a noise.

He moved before he knew what he was doing and laid a hand on Spy’s shoulder. Not forcefully. He had learned early on that Spy answered force with force. He merely whispered that the man was his father. No more, no less. But Spy understood. He released his death grip and promptly apologized to his mother and himself. Then he looked at Sniper’s father and announced in no uncertain terms that if he laid a hand on Sniper or his mother, his life would belong to Spy’s to do with as he pleased. Sniper knew his father was a bull-headed bigot, but he could see the understanding skate across his face. His father finally recognized what sort of man Spy was and just how close he had come to being murdered in his own house. Sniper felt the tyranny that had ruled his home for the better part of his life finally dissolve. He glanced at Spy and knew his message was understood. Then his father looked at him and instead of disgust and rage, he saw the only person who could have saved his life. There was an understanding, then, between all four of them.

Later, much much later, Sniper finally managed to confess his love. Spy merely rolled over, muscular, healthy, and content, and told him the same. That he had from the moment they had met. His mask had come off, then, and Sniper was unsurprised to see the swarthy, sharply angled face beneath. They moved to Adelaide to satisfy Spy’s need for culture, but were only a ten minute drive to Sniper’s parents’ home and the countryside that was a part of him. They pursued contracts on their own terms on their own time, but as they grew older such things started to taper off. Sniper was content to live on his blood money and love and be loved by someone who wouldn’t judge him for it. He helped bought his parents a trip to Europe that they had always wanted, and if Sniper’s father resented him for it, he never let it on. Spy suggested they do the same and brought up several countries that Sniper had no desire to see and he knew Spy didn’t either. It was only after two days of argument that he realized all of the countries chosen had legalized same-sex marriage. He still made a show of reluctance, but Spy saw through it and made arrangements. To his surprise, his parents agreed to come. Even his father, the stone-faced phantom of his adolescence, watched over the ceremony with an expression of long-suffering patience. It was a quiet ceremony with just the four of them and that was exactly how Sniper liked it. He saw that happiness mirrored in Spy, whom he had never thought quite capable of an emotion so simple, and felt suffused by an overwhelming fondness. That moment, that feeling, was something he never forgot for the rest of his life.

2 .

/applause

Bravo! I loved it! Great writing!

3 .

Okay, first, may I just say, I will. be in. my bunk.

And then, love, even unbeta-ed. Just, gah, I became a bit of an emotional mess at the end there. Thanks for sharing!

4 .

Very sexy and very very sweet! Well written!

5 .

This is WONDERFULLY written.

6 .

While it could have used a beta for sure, i really enjoyed it! it was sweet but still had its masculine feel to it. they where men and that's that. very much enjoyed it being all nice and tied up at the end, very well done, thanks mate!

7 .

...Resisting the urge to babble in nonsensical glee. I feel all warm and fuzzy now.

I take the blame with complete and utter pride!

8 .

First,
>>3

I love you for that reference.

Second, this is beautiful. It's short and not-exactly-sweet at first, but it gets there. Then you wrapped things up nicely and closed it on the perfect note--the mark of a great oneshot. I know that none of this is helpful in the least, but what I lack in concrit I try to make up for in praise!

So bravo.

9 .

This is fantastic. Just.

Every bit, I love it. Please, don't stop writing ever.
I can't even- I just- Goddamn it, KISS ME you brilliant writer.

10 .

This was awesome. It was hot and heartwarming at the same time.

11 .

One of the best Sniper/Spy fics I've ever read. Thank you for this. I'm actually somewhat happy no one is posting new fics here anymore so I have time to browse through these old gems.
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