MGS: Deep and Crisp and Even
Dec. 28th, 2011 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what_we_dreamTitle: Deep and Crisp and Even
Series: MGS
Pairing: Snake/Otacon
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Gift!fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mr_warden
Summary: Snow shovelling, and the aftermath. PWP.
“Wake up,” says a gruff voice from nearby, “it’s time to shovel the driveway.”
Hal blinks into wakefulness, staring at Dave standing silhouetted by the bright light streaming in through the bedroom window. The light is so bright, he can see even without his glasses, because the world beyond is entirely white. He groans and drops back into his pillow. “This is not how anyone wants to start their day,” he says. And then, when Dave doesn’t relent, “Let’s do it later.”
“After the 12 inches forecast for overnight? Or after we run out of coffee, bread, eggs, vegetables and beer?”
The clock reads 2:13 – a bit late, even for a 5am turn in. Hal groans again, but rolls over and out of the bed.
“Your breakfast’s already on the table,” Dave tells him, and disappears to let him dress in uncoordinated peace.
------------------------------------------
Renting a cabin in the middle of rural Montana had seemed like a good idea in late August – a large perimeter entirely under their control, no possibility of being fenced in, and close proximity to a largely unpatrolled national border. Now, in November, it just seems like idiocy. Hal pulls on the last of his winter gear, and trudges out to meet Dave on the front doorstep. Unsurprisingly, the soldier has two pairs of snow shovels on hand. They carry them out to the lean-to that serves as a garage, Dave in jeans and a sweater, Hal in jeans, a sweater, a coat, a scarf, a hat, and gloves.
“Snow shovelling would be good training for you,” says Hal, taking a half-hearted dig at where he estimates the driveway must be. The snow’s about 18 inches deep, probably has been falling all night and morning. It’s not snowing now, but the sky above is ominously grey.
“It’ll be good exercise for you,” retorts Dave, already a yard down the drive. “Get a move on. Or are you telling me you lived in Alaska for two years and don’t know how to shovel snow?”
“Surprisingly – they didn’t have – senior project leads – doing manual labour.” Hal digs in with forceful blows, straining to lift the snow and dump it on the far side of the path they’re creating. Although his boots crunch easily through it, it’s surprisingly heavy.
Snake snorts. He’s pulling away fast, clearing a wide path efficiently. Hal shakes his head, and goes on with his ineffective sharp strokes.
It is beautiful, he slowly accepts as the chill cools his initial unwillingness to be out here. The snow is thick on the branches of the trees on the cabin’s property, covering even the thinnest with a delicate coating. The crystals glint even in the dim light, the entire expanse of snow shimmering with diamond-light. He admires it as he rests over his shovel and catches his breath, a quarter of the way down the driveway and already hopelessly behind.
He’s just straightening to pick the shovel up when something hits him in the small of the back with a soft phut sound. He turns around, and the next snowball hits him right in the throat. The scarf takes most of it, but some slides down to press wetly against his skin.
“Ack! Dave, what –” the next one is already flying at him, and he ducks hastily. At the end of the driveway – mostly clear already – Dave is bending to scoop up his next missile. Hal abandons his shovel and picks up the one that hit him in the back, reforming it sloppily and launching it overarm. The snow is dry and powdery, not ideal for snowballs, and most of it disintegrates en route. Dave turns to take the remainder in the arm, before returning fire. Hal’s already moving, but Dave’s trajectory is unerring even if his weapon isn’t – it explodes in a shower of white as it hits Hal in the chest.
Dave can be an impatient drill-master when exercising and sparring, and is always relentless in weapons and stealth training. But as he chases Hal across the yard, dodging very poorly aimed snowballs and returning them much more accurately, there’s nothing but laughter in his eyes.
Hal ambushes him on the porch, which admittedly fails utterly because Dave is expecting it and gets him right in the chest, but whatever his next offensive plan is it’s unravelled when Hal grabs him by the collar and kisses him. Dave’s lips are cold, but his mouth is warm and he responds immediately by pulling Hal up hard against him. It’s hot and good and even kind of romantic, until Dave slips his ice-cold hands inside Hal’s coat and under his several layers of shirts to press up against his sides.
Hal’s skidded away before he registers his nerves reacting for him, and finds himself standing up against the door breathing hard. “Haa – aagh – hah. That was cold. Really cold.” He pulls his cap off to brush his hair away from his forehead, and steps back to Dave. He presses a kiss against Dave’s cheek, finding it just as cold as his hands. “You’re freezing, you know. You should wear more layers.” He pulls the hat on over Dave’s mop of hair – it looks truly awful. “Or maybe not.”
“Guess you’ll just have to share,” says Dave. Hal, reading his plan in his eyes, manages to get the door open and makes it two steps inside before Dave’s freezing hands are against his back again. They slide around over his stomach and pull him back even as he shivers; the door closes behind them with a bang.
Hal turns, slipping out of his coat and gloves, and pulls Dave’s arms out to chaff his hands while Dave leans in to kiss him. He keeps it up until he can feel heat returning to Dave’s fingers, then drops them and breaks the kiss to bend and begin fighting with their frozen boot laces – his pants feel like a solid sheet of ice from the knee down. He gets his undone just as Dave’s still-numb fingers manage to open both his belt and zip; the jeans slide down with a stiff whisper.
Dave’s cock is already flushed, half-hard with the thick head gleaming. Hal swallows, once, and then swivels to take just the tip between his lips. He flicks the edge of his tongue over it and looks up, smiling. Dave’s watching him with hungry eyes, jaw hard and shoulders tense, and Hal knows he wants to move, to cradle Hal’s skull in his hands and fuck his mouth, to turn him ‘round and press him up against the back of the couch and drive in balls deep until Hal comes on the ugly upholstery. He doesn’t do any of those things, though, holds himself perfectly still and watches as Hal opens his mouth and takes him in deeper while bending to untie Dave’s boots.
Concentrating on unknotting the icy laces and giving a good blow-job simultaneously is tricky, and Hal knows he’s not doing a perfect job of either of them. But the laces are loosening and Dave’s breathing hard for the first time this afternoon, open-mouthed, and he throws back his head when Hal takes him in throat-deep and chokes back the gag reflex. He’s still refusing to move, making Hal do the work, but his hips are rocking closer of their own accord and his hands are fisted with the effort of not acting.
Hal feels the second lace fall free under his fingers and stands, undoing his own beltless jeans and pushing them down over his hips in an instant. He pulls Dave into a deep kiss; his own mouth still tastes of precome, and he presses it over Dave’s tongue to let him taste himself.
Falling back against the back of the couch behind him for support, Hal twines his arms and legs around Dave and moans as their cocks jerk against each other, hard and damp between their now-hot skin. He could come like this, he knows, grinding himself against Dave’s hip. But Dave’s scrabbling in the drawer of the entryway table, and a moment later his hand is slipping up behind Hal’s ass to tease a slick finger through the tight entrance there.
Hal can be patient in love-making, but his legs are cold and the ice on his jeans is melting to soak his feet, and he knows someone’s going to have to go back outside in these clothes and finish the driveway. He twists his arm back to urge Dave in faster, deeper, and hears him curse almost incoherently into Hal’s mouth. Finally, he slides his own finger in alongside Dave’s, arching his shivering spine at the sensation. Dave pulls away then, panting in earnest with a low throaty sound, so close to the edge. He holds Hal’s shoulder with a lube-slick hand, his own shoulders rising and falling, dark hair tussled up like a wolf’s. Then Hal’s turning, and Dave’s running a hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh, and round to cup Hal’s balls as he slides in with a groan.
The world seems simultaneously very large, and very small, and Hal’s attention seems to flicker back and forth between the two perceptions. Large: every sensation, every breath on his neck, every drop of sweat running down his back, every square inch of skin brushing against hair/shirt/sweater/skin/jeans/socks. Small: Dave’s calloused hand on his cock and the coordinated thrusts of Dave’s own dick deeper and deeper into him, two parts of one interconnected whole, every single flicker of movement sending pleasure scraping across his nerves so that the universe begins and ends right here and there’s nothing outside it. He’s losing objectivity, losing assessment of the situation, but that doesn’t matter. He snaps his hips back to bring Dave deep, so deep, into him and overlaps their hands so he’s jerking himself off – they’re jerking him off together, in a pool of melting snow and –
Hal tilts his head back and comes with a low cry, half caught in his throat. Dave mutters something against his neck that Hal doesn’t catch and bends him further over the couch, cock grinding against him until he comes a minute later in a series of fast, short drives.
There’s a moment of awkwardness, because they’re standing in the entranceway with wet jeans around their ankles like a pair of teenagers. After a moment, Dave toes his boots off and steps out of the pants; galvanized by the action, Hal follows suit.
“Shower,” Dave says, heading in that direction. “Then the driveway. Then clean-up. Then –”
“We do it all over again tomorrow?” asks Hal, looking outside. The first snowflakes of the afternoon are beginning to fall, barely visible against the grey sky.
Dave pushes the bathroom door open, starts the tap running to wait for the hot water. “Still regret this place?”
Hal shrugs as Dave pulls his sweater and shirt over his head, now completely naked. “It has its perks.”
END
Series: MGS
Pairing: Snake/Otacon
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Gift!fic for
mr_wardenSummary: Snow shovelling, and the aftermath. PWP.
“Wake up,” says a gruff voice from nearby, “it’s time to shovel the driveway.”
Hal blinks into wakefulness, staring at Dave standing silhouetted by the bright light streaming in through the bedroom window. The light is so bright, he can see even without his glasses, because the world beyond is entirely white. He groans and drops back into his pillow. “This is not how anyone wants to start their day,” he says. And then, when Dave doesn’t relent, “Let’s do it later.”
“After the 12 inches forecast for overnight? Or after we run out of coffee, bread, eggs, vegetables and beer?”
The clock reads 2:13 – a bit late, even for a 5am turn in. Hal groans again, but rolls over and out of the bed.
“Your breakfast’s already on the table,” Dave tells him, and disappears to let him dress in uncoordinated peace.
------------------------------------------
Renting a cabin in the middle of rural Montana had seemed like a good idea in late August – a large perimeter entirely under their control, no possibility of being fenced in, and close proximity to a largely unpatrolled national border. Now, in November, it just seems like idiocy. Hal pulls on the last of his winter gear, and trudges out to meet Dave on the front doorstep. Unsurprisingly, the soldier has two pairs of snow shovels on hand. They carry them out to the lean-to that serves as a garage, Dave in jeans and a sweater, Hal in jeans, a sweater, a coat, a scarf, a hat, and gloves.
“Snow shovelling would be good training for you,” says Hal, taking a half-hearted dig at where he estimates the driveway must be. The snow’s about 18 inches deep, probably has been falling all night and morning. It’s not snowing now, but the sky above is ominously grey.
“It’ll be good exercise for you,” retorts Dave, already a yard down the drive. “Get a move on. Or are you telling me you lived in Alaska for two years and don’t know how to shovel snow?”
“Surprisingly – they didn’t have – senior project leads – doing manual labour.” Hal digs in with forceful blows, straining to lift the snow and dump it on the far side of the path they’re creating. Although his boots crunch easily through it, it’s surprisingly heavy.
Snake snorts. He’s pulling away fast, clearing a wide path efficiently. Hal shakes his head, and goes on with his ineffective sharp strokes.
It is beautiful, he slowly accepts as the chill cools his initial unwillingness to be out here. The snow is thick on the branches of the trees on the cabin’s property, covering even the thinnest with a delicate coating. The crystals glint even in the dim light, the entire expanse of snow shimmering with diamond-light. He admires it as he rests over his shovel and catches his breath, a quarter of the way down the driveway and already hopelessly behind.
He’s just straightening to pick the shovel up when something hits him in the small of the back with a soft phut sound. He turns around, and the next snowball hits him right in the throat. The scarf takes most of it, but some slides down to press wetly against his skin.
“Ack! Dave, what –” the next one is already flying at him, and he ducks hastily. At the end of the driveway – mostly clear already – Dave is bending to scoop up his next missile. Hal abandons his shovel and picks up the one that hit him in the back, reforming it sloppily and launching it overarm. The snow is dry and powdery, not ideal for snowballs, and most of it disintegrates en route. Dave turns to take the remainder in the arm, before returning fire. Hal’s already moving, but Dave’s trajectory is unerring even if his weapon isn’t – it explodes in a shower of white as it hits Hal in the chest.
Dave can be an impatient drill-master when exercising and sparring, and is always relentless in weapons and stealth training. But as he chases Hal across the yard, dodging very poorly aimed snowballs and returning them much more accurately, there’s nothing but laughter in his eyes.
Hal ambushes him on the porch, which admittedly fails utterly because Dave is expecting it and gets him right in the chest, but whatever his next offensive plan is it’s unravelled when Hal grabs him by the collar and kisses him. Dave’s lips are cold, but his mouth is warm and he responds immediately by pulling Hal up hard against him. It’s hot and good and even kind of romantic, until Dave slips his ice-cold hands inside Hal’s coat and under his several layers of shirts to press up against his sides.
Hal’s skidded away before he registers his nerves reacting for him, and finds himself standing up against the door breathing hard. “Haa – aagh – hah. That was cold. Really cold.” He pulls his cap off to brush his hair away from his forehead, and steps back to Dave. He presses a kiss against Dave’s cheek, finding it just as cold as his hands. “You’re freezing, you know. You should wear more layers.” He pulls the hat on over Dave’s mop of hair – it looks truly awful. “Or maybe not.”
“Guess you’ll just have to share,” says Dave. Hal, reading his plan in his eyes, manages to get the door open and makes it two steps inside before Dave’s freezing hands are against his back again. They slide around over his stomach and pull him back even as he shivers; the door closes behind them with a bang.
Hal turns, slipping out of his coat and gloves, and pulls Dave’s arms out to chaff his hands while Dave leans in to kiss him. He keeps it up until he can feel heat returning to Dave’s fingers, then drops them and breaks the kiss to bend and begin fighting with their frozen boot laces – his pants feel like a solid sheet of ice from the knee down. He gets his undone just as Dave’s still-numb fingers manage to open both his belt and zip; the jeans slide down with a stiff whisper.
Dave’s cock is already flushed, half-hard with the thick head gleaming. Hal swallows, once, and then swivels to take just the tip between his lips. He flicks the edge of his tongue over it and looks up, smiling. Dave’s watching him with hungry eyes, jaw hard and shoulders tense, and Hal knows he wants to move, to cradle Hal’s skull in his hands and fuck his mouth, to turn him ‘round and press him up against the back of the couch and drive in balls deep until Hal comes on the ugly upholstery. He doesn’t do any of those things, though, holds himself perfectly still and watches as Hal opens his mouth and takes him in deeper while bending to untie Dave’s boots.
Concentrating on unknotting the icy laces and giving a good blow-job simultaneously is tricky, and Hal knows he’s not doing a perfect job of either of them. But the laces are loosening and Dave’s breathing hard for the first time this afternoon, open-mouthed, and he throws back his head when Hal takes him in throat-deep and chokes back the gag reflex. He’s still refusing to move, making Hal do the work, but his hips are rocking closer of their own accord and his hands are fisted with the effort of not acting.
Hal feels the second lace fall free under his fingers and stands, undoing his own beltless jeans and pushing them down over his hips in an instant. He pulls Dave into a deep kiss; his own mouth still tastes of precome, and he presses it over Dave’s tongue to let him taste himself.
Falling back against the back of the couch behind him for support, Hal twines his arms and legs around Dave and moans as their cocks jerk against each other, hard and damp between their now-hot skin. He could come like this, he knows, grinding himself against Dave’s hip. But Dave’s scrabbling in the drawer of the entryway table, and a moment later his hand is slipping up behind Hal’s ass to tease a slick finger through the tight entrance there.
Hal can be patient in love-making, but his legs are cold and the ice on his jeans is melting to soak his feet, and he knows someone’s going to have to go back outside in these clothes and finish the driveway. He twists his arm back to urge Dave in faster, deeper, and hears him curse almost incoherently into Hal’s mouth. Finally, he slides his own finger in alongside Dave’s, arching his shivering spine at the sensation. Dave pulls away then, panting in earnest with a low throaty sound, so close to the edge. He holds Hal’s shoulder with a lube-slick hand, his own shoulders rising and falling, dark hair tussled up like a wolf’s. Then Hal’s turning, and Dave’s running a hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh, and round to cup Hal’s balls as he slides in with a groan.
The world seems simultaneously very large, and very small, and Hal’s attention seems to flicker back and forth between the two perceptions. Large: every sensation, every breath on his neck, every drop of sweat running down his back, every square inch of skin brushing against hair/shirt/sweater/skin/jeans/socks. Small: Dave’s calloused hand on his cock and the coordinated thrusts of Dave’s own dick deeper and deeper into him, two parts of one interconnected whole, every single flicker of movement sending pleasure scraping across his nerves so that the universe begins and ends right here and there’s nothing outside it. He’s losing objectivity, losing assessment of the situation, but that doesn’t matter. He snaps his hips back to bring Dave deep, so deep, into him and overlaps their hands so he’s jerking himself off – they’re jerking him off together, in a pool of melting snow and –
Hal tilts his head back and comes with a low cry, half caught in his throat. Dave mutters something against his neck that Hal doesn’t catch and bends him further over the couch, cock grinding against him until he comes a minute later in a series of fast, short drives.
There’s a moment of awkwardness, because they’re standing in the entranceway with wet jeans around their ankles like a pair of teenagers. After a moment, Dave toes his boots off and steps out of the pants; galvanized by the action, Hal follows suit.
“Shower,” Dave says, heading in that direction. “Then the driveway. Then clean-up. Then –”
“We do it all over again tomorrow?” asks Hal, looking outside. The first snowflakes of the afternoon are beginning to fall, barely visible against the grey sky.
Dave pushes the bathroom door open, starts the tap running to wait for the hot water. “Still regret this place?”
Hal shrugs as Dave pulls his sweater and shirt over his head, now completely naked. “It has its perks.”
END
