As far as the Scout was concerned, he was not in the talking mood, having used up all his energy into finding the elder man altogether and having a much-needed crying fit thanks to the strangely-nurturing mood of the resident Heavy. By the time the Sniper had shut the camper door and turned to face the boy, he was already curled up in wrinkly sheets of the bed; his face was hidden from view, and all for the better, as it held the most intense expression of betrayal.
He knew the hunter did not intentionally hide himself and refuse to answer the youth’s call, but, having that constantly-aggressive attitude, the Scout was still reduced to huffs and pouts and the odd silent treatment. He was tired, cranky, and wanted nothing more than to vanish in the sheets, yet at the same time, he silently begged for the kind touch of the elder man.
He would be granted the latter in the form of calloused, yet gentle hands grasping his tense shoulders, fingers rubbing and massaging into the muscles with only a low hum that sounded more akin to a growl; regardless, it would be welcomed by the Scout in the form of a hiss followed by a long and drawn-out moan. The Sniper was careful to avoid the tender area covered in stitches, as even his own still had a mild burn to them. At least those scars would fade in time; the Medic would bet his entire life’s researches on such a gamble. There would be no doubt of it.
Such thoughts sparked a thought in the Sniper’s head as to the reasoning behind the Scout’s fowl mood. He leaned over the boy’s body, hesitating momentarily before pressing his lips to the back of his head, allowing his lips to move close enough to his ear to whisper encouraging words.
“Everythin’ will be foine, lad,” he began in a raspy voice. His hands never ceased in massaging relaxing muscle. “We’ll get that piker soon, right?”
The boy’s muscles tightened once more. “And, then what, huh?” the Scout abruptly spat, ending his silence as he withdrew from the elder’s hands by rolling over onto his backside, sitting upright with the most vile of scowls he could muster. “What next? Everything’s gonna suddenly be all rainbows an’ sunshine?”
“I didn’t say that ex—“
“Yeah, well, what did you say exactly? We’re just gonna go back to the way things used ta be? Spoiler alert, Mundy: I can’t go back to that, alright? I can’t take back that night and I sure as fuck can’t make this go away!” The Scout yanked his shirt up with disdain, his free hand pointing to the scar along his torso—as if it needed to be pointed out—and his reddened face only turned a deeper shade with a rage that had yet to be released.
The Sniper could only stare at the boy, purely dumbfounded by his outburst. After the days they had spent together, the elder man was sure he had gotten a better handle on the situation and was more-or-less living for revenge, but the youth had a point—what would happen after the life of the Spy was rendered expired? There would be no returning to a state of normalcy. What was done could not be undone; however, not everything that had happened with the two men could necessarily be a bad thing, right? That day on the side of the deserted highway—was that was still worth something to the boy? The hunter merely fell victim to his own desire, more for the Scout than himself, but he knew that, deep-down, there was more to their love-making than just to ease the growing tension during their road trip. He just did not know how to put it into words or admit that he had fallen for the boy, more so in his moments of need that only seemed to grow the more the days carried on. The duo needed one another in more ways than to just kill an enemy as their jobs suggested.
That much, the Sniper was certain of. Though, what kind of world could the two live and thrive in when a withering, elder man showered a much-younger man with affections, lust, and the like? Was there a life beyond the job of mercenaries? He shook his head; too many thoughts that had no right to flood his brain needed to be cleared out. The present situation was in dire need of attention than silly thoughts of the future.
The silence that followed the Scout’s questions only irritated him further. Sure, the bushman was making an effort to contemplate his inquiries, but, right now, the boy wanted answers—some to give him worth and others to give him motivation. He gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up as if to walk away, but the Sniper, in a panic, followed him, engulfing the boy in his larger arms from behind as his chin rested on the space between the youth’s shoulder and neck. The younger male stiffened in the grip, but soon relaxed into it, going so far as to raise his hands to grip the hunter’s forearms.
“Tha Soldier saw me,” the Scout whispered, finally giving hint to the purpose behind his fowl mood altogether, “Tha whole damn base probably knows now.”
“It’s none of their concern,” the Sniper was quick to retort, “You don’t have ta tell anyone anythin’, ya hear? Anyone gives ya grief, I’ll put me arrows through their skulls. I could use all tha practice for when it counts.”
The younger male snorted in jest at the hunter’s lame joke, but it seemed to do the trick in lessening the heavy cloud that rained on his heart. The Scout turned into the Sniper’s embrace, allowing his forehead to rest on the taller man’s chest. If the hunter said that things would be fine, then fine they would be. It would not fully help the boy ease his weary mind filled with negativity and partial fear, but it was enough to get him through another day.
The youth lifted his head to gaze at the Sniper above him, face written in complete shock. “That’s—That’s tha first time ya ever said my name.”
“Is it a bad thing?”
“Well, ye—no, not really, I guess,” the Scout murmured as he rested his head against the elder man’s chest again.
“Look at me,” the Sniper whispered as his fingers grasped the boy’s chin and lifted his head back once more. He bit his lip and was hesitant to speak, but there would never be a more perfect moment created in all of the chaos surrounding the two men. “I won’t let anythin’ bad ever happen ta ya again, alroight? I’ll put me on life on the loine if it meant saving ya from just a scratch. Not because I owe it ta ya—well, I do, but—but—I love ya an’ I don’t wanna ever see ya hurt again.”
The Scout thought he had been drained of his entire being of tears already, but he had been proven wrong with the elder’s proclamation, and the pipes broke, sending a rush of salty liquid to spill over his eyelashes. His lips wrinkled before releasing a haggard sob and burying his face into the hunter’s shirt, his fingers clenching into the same material he soaked with tears; his hands quickly became fists, and he weakly pounded them into the Sniper’s stomach. In turn, the elder man could only wrap his arms about the quivering mess and hang on for all of dear life as if the boy in his embrace would vanish if he let go.
“I’m sorry, lad, I—“
“No, no, it’s okay,” the boy sniffed, his voice muffled by the elder’s chest. “I’m—I’m happy, I really am. Just didn’t know ya felt tha same way is all. I’m glad…but, don’t go getting yourself killed for my sake, alright? I kinda really like havin’ ya around…”
“I’ve felt this way for a long toime now,” the hunter admitted, though he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He would be glad the boy did not see an old man acting like a high school girl with her first crush; it would have easily shamed them both. “I just didn’t think it was roight. But—But, it’s okay; it’s foine. Not everythin’ ‘as ta be defined by roight an’ wrong.”
The Sniper suddenly felt hands at the back of his head, pulling it down until his lips were engulfed in a kiss. The younger male drew back, something of a wry smile about his face. “Ya talk too much, y’know.”
“I was just mak—“
“I said ya talk too damn much!” The hands at the hunter’s neck gripped his flesh tighter, as the Scout forcibly held him down to his level. “It’s agreed that it’s time for action, yeah?”
The elder man would not have time to answer the question, let alone ponder it, as the boy’s lips were on his once again; however, his own hands automatically slid to rest on the youth’s hips before locking together at his lower back. He dared to tilt his head, allowing better access to the Scout’s mouth, claiming every inch of it as his own, much to the delight of the humming he received for his efforts. It took no effort to entice his mouth into opening, and the hunter’s tongue was free to taste and explore as he wished, and he did so hungrily; so hungry, in fact, the elder man found sudden strength in picking the smaller body up in a bear hug and carrying him back to his bed where the two fell in a mass pile of tangled limbs and heavy breathing.
The boy winced as his neck was rubbed into the sheets upon landing, but the pain of the stitches would only be minuscule worry as he greedily lifted his upper half to meet the Sniper in another kiss; it was met with fervor as the elder man’s hands were quick to dip beneath the Scout’s shirt, tracing, tickling, and massaging all the flesh his fingers could find in such an odd position as the boy was not about to release his grip on the man’s head. One slip, and fingers would be digging into raw stitching, but even now, his fingers’ positions were calculated to avoid such an accident; however, his own wound would not go without pain as he hissed and forced himself to sit upright despite the hunter’s ministrations.
“Damn thing won’t stop hurtin’,” he mumbled in a defeated manner, but the Sniper would stand and pull the boy to his feet, only to spin him around so that his back faced the man. The Scout would have protested, but the warmer body of the taller man was at his back, and his hands were back on his torso beneath his shirt; a tongue would trail down the side of his neck, and all pain was forgotten.
At least, the pain in his neck; the tension in his pants were another story altogether, and the hunter’s hand caressing his groin through the cloth was enough to drive the boy well over the edge of sanity. The Scout moaned and instinctively began thrusting his hips into the touch as his mouth hung agape; he barely registered the sound of his own belt being unbuckled had the Sniper not been so loud and moving in such heated haste to undo it altogether. The hand dipping into his underpants and grasping his arousal squeezed a startled cry from the youth and his body shivered under the pleasing touch. It was too much too soon, but he wanted, demanded more, and the Scout’s begging whines would pay tribute to just that.
And, the Sniper would comply. The stress of the day and the stress of the entire everything and the new-found revelations all formed together to create this one moment of release, and it would not be made in vain. The boy’s bottom half was made bare as his pants clumped about his cleat-clad feet, and he was made to bend his upper half down on the bed to be balanced by elbows and hands. The sound of a zipper would guarantee he would not be forced to wait for needed ecstasy; however, the elder man would ensure absolute comfort despite the human desire to take the boy as quickly as possible. Fingers slick with saliva prodded at the Scout’s backside, but the hand at his now-erect member kept the boy from emitting a pained cry; rather, it would be turned into a drawn-out moan and his body seemed to take a life of its own and work to move on the digits to his rear and the hand at his groin. The youth was now nothing more than a mewling kitten in the sounds he made, which only enticed the bushman to continue to prepare him properly, if not a little more vigorously. Fingers withdrew much to his protesting; however, the Sniper hastily removed his own aroused member from the confines of his pants, and he hesitated long enough to coat it with his own mixture of spit before looming over the smaller male.
The Scout twisted his head to gaze at the hunter, and a nod would be his compliance as his fingers clenched the sheets in preparation. The Sniper then lowered himself onto the boy, his left foot moving to the edge of the mattress as added support, and slowly pressed himself deep within the boy’s body. Their mixed groans was a simple orchestra in its own right—lyrics were unnecessary for such a song—and their clothing clung to their sweaty bodies in a wrinkly fashion.
But, clothes would be the least of their concerns; more pressing issues were now put on top-priority as both bodies instantly took to a well-choreographed tango—the squeaking of the bed would be the only sour note in the entire performance. The Sniper pressed his body close to the smaller man, one hand moving to the bed to hold himself upright as the other held to the Scout by way of wrapping his arm around his chest in a tight embrace. His breath was hot against a sensitive ear, and his own moans merely enticed the boy into a heap of pants and whines. A shaky hand moved from the sheets to grip the elder’s upon the bed, fingers interlacing in a gesture where words were not necessary. It was not just a performance to appease raw human nature; the Sniper and Scout now made love as if the very earth would collapse in on itself at any given moment. For all they cared, it could very well happen and not a single regret be shared between them.
The elder man’s hand moved from the boy’s chest and took hold of the unforgotten arousal beneath him, instantly finding new rhythm to compensate for the maddening pace of the thrusts now at the youth’s backside. The Scout howled in pleasure, his nails pressing into the hunter’s hand and his back arching against the weight of the taller man. Again, his senses would be over-stimulated to the point of going mad, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath the pressure. Teeth ground and groans squeezed between tooth and lip until he could bear it no longer.
In one quick instant, the boy gave a throaty cry, and his body went rigid; eyes saw clouds of white, and he spilled his seed along his stomach and bed as the Sniper worked every single spasm from his being. The tightening of muscle around his own member sent electricity along the hunter’s spine, and his yell was equally as deep and strained as he hastily filled the youth with his own fluid to the point of leaking upon the floor. He had to catch himself before his body gave way completely and crushed the one below him now that the Scout had become deadweight with his own exhaustion and slid onto his knees on the floor. The bushman followed in moving to the floor in a tired heap behind the smaller body, his hands hanging limply at his sides while his knuckles fell upon the floor; the man’s forehead drooped on the boy’s shoulder blade. He, in turn, wrapped his arms about the elder’s and leaned into him, their weights supported by one another. Both were equally spent, equally satisfied, equally in love.
And, at that point, the problems in the world were far from their hazy thoughts. After all, tomorrow would come—sure as the day before and the day before that and every day until the beginning of time--and the Sniper and Scout pair would face it together.
For now, today was about them; no other man could take that away.