Not the one from the kink meme, but I hope you like it anyway.
Working on a male version right now.


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When you poke your head through the hatch into Sniper’s nest, you’re not surprised to see him there. You are, however, surprised to see him lying on the floor. His hands are resting on his stomach, folded neatly with his aviators hanging between his fingers. His head turns slightly as you make yourself known, and he hms softly at you, and though he doesn’t say anything you know he’s essentially asking why you’re bothering him.

“I, uh, brought you that radio you wanted…” You say, hoisting a small but heavy radio through the hatch and onto the floor. You then pull yourself up and sit, your legs still hanging over the edge. You look at him for a moment, rubbing the back of your neck and wondering if it was a bad time. Maybe he was trying to sleep. After all, it /is/ rather dark out, and he isn’t exactly the type to sleep in a conventional way. It’s not far-fetched at all to think that he’d sleep out here on the cold, hard floorboards. You can’t help think to yourself how lonely it must get up here.

“Bring it over,” he says, not specifying where he wants it. You take a guess, pushing it across the floor and putting it near the wall. He leans his head up a bit and reaches back, fiddling with the stations and sighing derisively. You laugh a little and kneel next to him, swatting his hand away gently and offering to help. He grins and motions for you to go for it, though he doubts you’ll find anything. Stations don’t come in so well anymore. He watches your hand move the dial intently, eyes flickering to yours every so often to gauge your expression. You know he’s going to reprimand you as soon as you let on you’re not finding anything, so you continue and pretend as though you know how to work these things.

“Static,” he points out helpfully, grinning as you turn the dial again. You shoot him a look, smiling back once you see him smile, and shake your head.

“Shut up. I’m still looking,” You say, pounding the radio a few times to try and get it working. He clicks his heels against the floor as he waits, as the realization dawns on you that maybe you won’t find anything. You’ll just have to live with his teases after that, bad as they are, and-

Suddenly, a station comes in, and music floats through the speakers and around the nest. Sniper raises his eyebrows at you, making a small “hm!” sound and giving you thumbs up. You silently thank the radio for being on your side tonight and look out onto the horizon, realizing for perhaps the first time that stars are visible from where you’re sitting. You also realize why he likes to sleep up here so often.

Both of you listen in silence, staying in your respective positions and watching the sky.

“S’girl music,” he mumbles, sounding like a man who’s trying very hard to appear displeased, and grumbles something else a bit angrily after that. You chuckle, thinking that he’s a bit adorable when he’s trying to keep up his tough guy façade. But as he pats the floor and invites you to lie beside him, you can’t help but agree with his sentiment. Sure, it was a slow song, and sure it had a sickeningly sweet set of vocals and lyrics to go along with it, but it wasn’t awful by any means. Both of you know it.

“Take a look at that,” he murmurs, looking towards you for a moment as he points into the sky and to constellations, tracing one after the other with his finger. You don’t learn any of their names, of course, as you’re too busy listening to the sound of his voice and not what he actually had to say. Of course, you pretend to listen, saying ‘ahh’ and ‘mm-hm’ where appropriate. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

He puts his hand down and it brushes against yours.

“Oh,” you say, moving yourself a bit away from him. “Sorry about that.”

He flips himself onto his stomach, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he looks at you. You look up at him from your position, feeling yourself turn a bit red. He stays like that for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he looks at you almost contemplatively. He starts to tap his shoes on the floorboards again.

“You don’t like me that much?” He asks.

“It’s not that at all!” You say, sitting up and turning to face him. You hadn’t meant to make him think that; you just assumed he wasn’t the sort of guy who liked contact.

He smiles, appreciating your answer and draws himself toward you, pinning you down to the floorboards and kissing you softly. You search for words for a few moments, shocked and highly flattered that he’d do such a thing. (Mostly, you’re surprised that his kiss was so sweet and gentle.)

“Thanks,” You say, smiling and blushing a little.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says, moving in to nip at your ear gently, his breath hot against you despite the cold air. You notice that his hand is resting against your thigh, slowly making its way up. Making sure he’s looking at you, you nod and watch as he leans back, now straddling you, and fiddles with the zipper of your pants.

He pulls your pants and underwear down, as far as he can manage, and leans over you again, his tongue probing into your mouth gently. Your arms now free, you wrap them around him and accept his advances, moaning softly into the kiss as his other hand begins to rub you softly, just teasing you for the moment.

“Come /on/,” you say, pulling away from the kiss momentarily. He murmurs a barely recognizable yes as he kisses you again, his rough tongue running up and over yours in the softest circles. He certainly knows his way around a person’s mouth. He brushes his fingers against your clitoris and looks satisfied at your heated moans. As you plant small kisses on his neck he delves in a little deeper this time, using two fingers; the sensation is strange at first, his rough and calloused fingers moving in and out of you slowly, but you become used to it quickly and enjoy it more than you thought you would.

Before you know it, you’re crying out his name softly as he goes in and out rhythmically. He’s breathing heavier and heavier each time you call out for him, the two of you kissing each other sloppily – you’re aiming for his lips but you’re missing quite often – and you moving your hips a bit in time with his. The cold doesn’t bother you so much anymore; you can feel his heat against you as he continues, mumbling sweet nothings into your ear while pleasuring you, his fingers probing and sliding in ways you hadn’t expected.

But you know he’s ready when he stops and leans back again, taking his belt off and his own pants, his penis erect, the tip glistening with precum. He shivers as it touches the night air and you pull him closer again, biting his lower lip hungrily as he rests the head of his dick against your opening. You brace yourself, and suddenly he’s pressing himself into you, your walls stretching to accommodate him. It’s bigger than you expected but it doesn’t hurt, it’s actually very pleasurable, and you wrap your arms around him as he goes in and comes back out.

It’s a good thing you’re laying down; your legs have turned to jelly already. He goes in again, and out, faster and faster each time, sweat beading across his forehead. He moans huskily each time, his dick hitting just the right spot for both of you. You notice that you’ve gotten louder, screaming for more and grabbing onto him tighter, though that’s not enough, you just want to stay like this with him for the longest time, the two of you hot and wet.

You lose your ability to think clearly as you come closer and closer to orgasm. All you can think about is the steady, quick rhythm and the tension rising between the two of you. He thrusts harder this time, but a little slower, and as you cry out his name for the final time you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, your toes and fingers curling in ecstasy. Your world, for a moment, is nothing but passion and heat, and as you lay your head against the floorboards to catch your breath, he pulls himself out of you and comes, the sticky white mess between the two of you.

He lies next to you again, an arm over his forehead and his breathing slowing down. After a bit he turns to look at you, grinning happily and no doubt looking for your approval; he wants to know what you think. You smile and grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze. You feel as though nothing else in the world matters as you look at Sniper, your Sniper, and lean over to kiss him on the lips one more time.

“Can I thank you now?” you ask.

“No need,” he says, looking up at the sky again. “Consider it a gift.”

He points out a constellation he had missed earlier and the rising of the sun as the two of you move a bit closer, holding onto each other. He even lets you wear his hat.