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American Beauty/American Psycho

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"Revolver Ocelot", as Kaz sizes him the second he swings in his rickety office in bumfuck nowhere, Puerto Rico, is dressed like a complete idiot, is as Texan as Kaz is Icelandic, and clearly thinks he’s an idiot.

He’s also hot as fuck, and Kaz has had enough of a dry spell since...the accident...that he finds himself flirting before he catches himself.

Ocelot responds in kind, his pale eyes lingering on his bare arms, on his neck when he pulls off his scarf.

Well, he might be a superspy or whatever, but Kaz has his own ways to manipulate people.

The mission he’s offering his invaluable expertise for is definitely something Kaz could have handled himself. Just a deal for some firearms that aren’t held together with duct tape and prayers. He knows what he really wants; keep a tab on him now that Snake is back under his control. Keep him leashed up, offer tiny crumbs of updates and intel as their relationship goes along so he’ll soon be dependent on him.

Kaz accepts his help, but refuses to be collared up like Snake’s faithful Hachiko. He’s the one running this ball now.

He’s always been the running the ball. He might not have Snake’s magnetic personality, but he also can keep a book and knows what taxes even are. You don’t run a business on magnetic personality.

Nor on being a sexy spy, which gives Kaz the upper hand anyway in his situation, aside from the upper hand he already has in his grasp and figuratively inching to his crotch when he gets up from behind the desk and stretches, and Ocelot’s eyes are glued to the tiny strip of tanned stomach showing between the waistband of his fatigues and his rising t-shirt.

Luckily, Kaz has the same upper hand with the arms dealer, and the added exoticism of his sharp blonde companion gets them a sizeable discount and a foot in the door of the local mercenary scene. In less than three hours they’re parking a van full of machine and hand guns built in this century in the crummy abandoned factory basement that serves as the new MSF’s -Kaz has been weighing new names but nothing has struck yet - base of operations.

Kaz fully believes in positive reinforcement. So he unbuckles the seatbelt and leans languidly against Ocelot, bringing out all the charm he can muster.

"It’s nice when a mission goes well," he purrs.

"That was hardly a mission and more grocery shopping," says Ocelot, who is pretending he isn’t absolutely smelling his hair.

"We get what we can in these turbulent times. Can’t be all shooting giant robots."


Ocelot doesn’t seem to tip his hand just yet, so Kaz leans closer. Ocelot's breath smells fresh, a long shot from undergrowth fauna and swamp beard.

Not that he’s comparing, or anything. This isn’t anything like that. This is strictly business.

"I’d like you to help us on a more regular basis," he says quietly, knowing just how much his breath is washing over Ocelot's lips.

"Really. And what would there be in it for me."

Kaz leans closer, close enough their knees are pressed together between the seats, close enough he can smell the spike of arousal on Ocelot's skin. "I can definitely make it worth your while," he says, dropping his voice an extra half octave. An old trick...he hasn't had to use this since college.

"I suppose it can’t be helped," breathes Ocelot. He’s looking at Kaz’s lips. Kaz runs his tongue over them slowly, watches him visibly swallow. “With...our common friend indisposed, we should at least try to look out for each other.”

Kaz smiles, finally pulling back sharply and leaving Ocelot sweating and flushed. "Good. Because there’s more a few of our new recruits that couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn and I’ve heard stories about your shooting."

"Miller, I’m not here to..."

Kaz's smile widens slowly. "I’m sure while you train them it’ll be no problem for you to get a feeling on whether they’re Cipher or XOF spies or not. And dispose of them discreetly if they are."

Ocelot blinks. "Of course. I don’t really need the excuse of training, though."

"But I do need a good shot to train my recruits."

Ocelot stares at him for a long second before he breaks in a cold, predatory smile. "You’re a little opportunist, aren’t you?"

Kaz presses a finger to his own lips. "Takes one to recognize one, doesn't it?"

"Alright," says Ocelot, finally ripping his eyes from Kaz's mouth. “Let’s get those guns out and tested then.”

Kaz is sure he’s going to regret this, but he doesn’t have much of a choice, does he? This is how he’s always handled things. It’s the only way he knows to stay afloat in a world bigger and more ruthless than he is.

At least Ocelot is pretty.

Kaz genuinely admires Ocelot's restraint. it's been six weeks since their first meeting, and they have been working together several times - always on Ocelot's time, Kaz doesn't get to call the shots, not yet - and Ocelot still hasn't cracked.

Snake was balls deep into him within a day of Kaz turning his charm all the way to "up". That's the kinda thing that makes a man think he's lost his touch.

Only kaz knows he hasn't, because Ocelot's eyes never leave him. He stares at the exposed skin when Kaz stretches, brushes against his ass when walking past him. His eyes are hungry and tired, and Kaz is determined to milk that hunger to the last drop.

Even without fucking him, Ocelot is an invaluable asset. He apparently has encyclopedic knowledge of classified intel, can tell whose side of the game a person is twenty seconds after they've entered a room, and is a better shot than Snake, even. The annoying attitude and the fact he's still not spilling the beans on Snake's location are entirely worth the literal billions of GMP Kaz is going to be making with him at his side.

Their sexual tension game of chicken comes to a head on a hot night in Guatemala, and not entirely like Kaz imagined.

On paper, the mission is a cakewalk: Arrigo Savarez, a rich co-op owner, needs protection from the death squads. In exchange, on top of the money, he will let Kaz's Diamond Dogs stay at the Villa. For better protection, of course. For an organization that can fit in a single van, it's an incredible deal. For the most part, all Ocelot has to do is a couple of phone calls and train the Diamond Dogs in plain sight, just in case anybody gets revolutionary ideas.

And then, the earthquake happens.

Kaz wakes screaming, already halfway out of his bed, and by the time his brain catches up with the fact that he's not in a flaming helicopter hurtling towards the sea the villa is crumbling. They are on the lower floor. Kaz jumps out of the closest window and into the yard just in time to see Hidden Wallaby get crushed soundlessly under the collapsing ceiling. He looks around. The ground has stopped shaking and the night is bright with the fields burning. The Spanish cries for help are as deafening as the roar of flames.

Kaz would panic, he's ready to, when a strong hand grips his forearm and pulls.

"Come on!" yells Ocelot over the cacophony of the villa crumpling into flames like a piece of paper. Kaz follows for a second before stopping dead in his tracks

"Wait, what happened to Savarez?"

"Either dead or running like you should be doing, Miller!"

Kaz almost says, "but we didn't get paid" but the fire is getting closer and hotter and soon there will be no Diamond Dogs left to pay if they don't run. So he runs.

The housing in which the workers live is entirely destroyed, the fragile adobe walls turned to dust over their heads. Ocelot keeps pulling, but Kaz shrugs his hand off and darts towards the still settling cloud of smoke.

A woman of undetermined age is crying for help. Kaz pushes inside the demolished building, finds a little girl trapped under an overturned chest of drawers. Her little hands cling to him and he's trying to pull her out when the chest is lifted. Kaz looks up and sees Angry Armadillo's half toothless grin in the darkness.

More people are calling for help when they make it out and drop the kid with her mother. Ocelot is looking around nervously.

"We need to go, Miller," he says.

"Go where? The roads are going to be a mess. We stay. We help."


Kaz gets in his face. there's a thin trail of blood down his forehead. "We stay," he says. "And we help."

Ocelot visibly recalculates in his head and finally nods. "Fine."

So they stay. They find the rest of the Diamond Dogs, which aside from Swan's broken arm are banged up but alive. Out of the maybe three dozen people they dig out of rubble, at least half is dead - crushed, suffocated, burned. Sleeping Dingo is not the world class surgeon they used to have in MSF but he works through the night to sew wounds, bandage broken arms, free airwaves. Kaz wipes exhausted tears off his face when Dingo somehow manages to get the baby in their arms breathing again. He doesn't speak to Ocelot but to his credit, he is just as unstoppable as they are. Carries old ladies to the shelter Swan and Armadillo have built out of tarps, drags bodies out to the still burning fields to get rid of before they start attracting flies, helps Killer Whale carry buckets of water to boil, breaks the locks on the food reserves and distributes it like the good little communist he is.

In the end, by a stroke of luck, they even find their employer, passed out in a ditch from a concussion. He's very grateful for the help, but Kaz can't exactly buy return tickets with gratefulness.

The sun is breaking over the horizon when they're finally done. Nobody is missing, most people have a handful of their belongings, food in their stomaches and hay to sleep on. The fires are dying out, although they can see them still glowing high in the distance where the city is - or used to be. They're not sure anymore.

Kaz collapses, exhausted, against a still standing chunk of wall, hands shaking as he tries to light one of the cigarettes the locals have given him. His lighter is full of dust and only clicks ineffectively. He's about to give up when the sure flame of a zippo dances in front of his eyes.

How long has Ocelot been there, anyway?

He takes a long drag from the cigarette, grateful. His head hurts. His aviators are long lost under the rubble, and Kaz is not looking forward to having to deal with the sun tomorrow.

Ocelot sits next to him. Kaz wordlessly passes him the cigarette, accepts it back when Ocelot takes a hit and passes it to him.

"You okay?" he says, and Ocelot glances at him owlishly before nodding. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"


Ocelot shrugs, like he's not sure what to do with being thanked genuinely. His face is stained with soot and dirt, and his dumb cowboy clothes are soaked with sweat.

He looks nice, like this.

Kaz decides he is entirely too tired for games. Snuffs the cigarette against the wall, grabs Ocelot by the face - his big ears are quite useful for that - and sticks his tongue in his mouth. Ocelot does not hesitate a single second before climbing on him, straddling his waist, and responding in kind.

Kaz almost tells him to take off his gloves before he takes his cock in a firm grip but honestly? the leather feels kinda nice. And his hands must feel pretty nice on Ocelot's cock as well by the choked little moans he makes in Kaz's mouth.

Who knew Ocelot was so easy to make whimper.

They're rough and quick, kissing only to keep quiet, biting each other's lips. Ocelot comes first with the cutest little surprised groan. Kaz is not nearly as close so he grips his ass, drags him forward, and finishes by rubbing up to Ocelot's softening cock. Nice.

They finally pass out next to each other and most definitely do not spoon for warmth, no matter what Dingo says afterwards.

It takes them three days to finally make it to a working airport, where Ocelot unblinkingly pulls out the three inch thick stash of money he swiped from Savarez's villa and buys tickets back home for all of them, Diamond Dogs and the handful of co-op workers that have decided to stick around.

Ocelot slips the rest of the money in Kaz's pocket. Kaz blows him in the bathroom. All in all, a job well done.

Ocelot disappears almost the second they touch down back in Puerto Rico. But that's all right. Kaz has his hands full with the new handful of recruits to train, spending the money they got in Guatemala. It's over a month later when he gets a call through at least three untraceable proxies.

"Miss me?" he purrs into the receiver just to hear Ocelot's frustrated hiss.

"Like a migraine."

"Do you have something for me or did you just want to hear my melodious voice?"

Ocelot sighs. "I'd start moving operations to Ethiopia. Ogaden. Lots of opportunities coming up soon."

"Are you going to grace is with your presence?"

"Not unless I'm really in the mood to get court-martialed by the GRU."

"Kinky. Stop by when we've set down base. I'm sure you'll find us."

"Will just have to follow the smell of starvation and cheap cologne," he chuckles, and closes the conversation.

Kaz doesn't really have a reason to trust Ocelot's tip, but at the same time he doesn't have a reason not to. He assumes it's in Ocelot's best interest to keep him alive so that Snake doesn't rip his head off when he's finally back.

So he gathers the men and starts making preparations. Some of their weapons and equipment is easier to sell than to attempt to smuggle. He pulls the strings to get first row seats at a banquet most people haven't still realized is about to start. It's not hard to find a place to house a dozen people and an office, start hitting up weapon dealers and military supply smugglers.

Within a month, they're settled. And when the Ethio-Somali War breaks out, the Diamond Dogs are ready to offer their services to the highest bidder. For the most part, they help rich people escape the country they've sucked dry, and use that leverage to haggle on the price. The borders can get pretty tense, but many on both sides still flinch at the mention of Big Boss, and the Red Army, well....

At first they try to give them trouble, they really do. Then one cold morning after they've spent the entire night in line at border control with crates of coffee that hide weapons and a white gentleman with blood stained diamond rings on every finger, they start hearing hushed voices that someone higher up has arrived. Kaz doesn't speak Russian, but you don't need to speak it to pick up "spetsnaz".

Nor "ocelot".

He quickly tells the rest of the Diamond Dogs not to show that they know him, just in time for Ocelot to saunter into the guardpost with a cheerful jangle of spurs.

It sure is new to see Ocelot in uniform rather than the flowy, comfortable attire he usually wears with them. His boots are so shiny, his bright red beret has the crispest edge Kaz has ever seen, and he looks and carries himself in a completely different manner.

He speaks to the soldiers in a comfortable but sure tone of voice. He sounds a lot different, which adds to Kaz's theory that the Southern accent is 100% just to get on his nerves. The soldiers snap to attention but have brightened up considerably. They like him here.

Kaz doesn't know what they're saying (he should really learn Russian) but within a few minutes they are being waved past as have to scramble to get back into the truck. As they drive into Somalia, Swan - who is Serbian - says, "he told them to let us through at any time. That we are a covert force actually working for the Soviets."

Kaz chuckles. he's made stranger bedfellows in his time, but none quite as dangerous as Ocelot apparently is. That's exciting.

He wonders if he can get him to wear his fancy black uniform next time.

Things were going well. They were going fantastic. Diamond Dogs was up to a couple dozen recruits, and some of them weren’t even ex-convicts. Moved operations to Cambodia, gained the support of the resistance pockets, flirted with the Khmer Rouge, facilitated the connection with Vietnam. It was hard, it was dangerous, and it felt good. Almost like they were making a difference in a desperate place. Almost like working with Amanda and the Sandinistas back in the day. Money wasn’t great, but it was rewarding. Kaz had even learned to enjoy the sheer terror of having Killer Whale ride him like a stolen bike in the back of her jeep whenever she got her huge hands on him. For a six-foot-four Angolan grenadier built like a double door fridge, she was very cute, when she came.

And then. Fucking Swan.

Kaz trusted him. He trusted that motherfucker, the only one of the old MSF survivors Kaz had found, that wanted to come back.

And when he betrays them, Kaz realizes just how he’d survived - by jumping right onto XOF’s chopper and selling them out. He can’t even blame Ocelot, because Kaz had insisted, over and over, that Swan would never betray them.

As the warehouse they made their home in burns down to a crisp and Kaz watches the only people he’s had left for the past two years die, he hates himself more than ever. He does what he can. Pulls out a couple of people out of the fire, tries to save some ammo from blowing up. It’s Whale that pushes him then, hard.

"Get out, commander," she grunts, and it’s the last time they speak.

Shame. She really was cute when she came.

Kaz is alone. No contacts, no money, only his sidearm and the half singed clothes on his back, on the run from Khmer Rouge gangs with flamethrowers. He washes off the soot and blood with the water from a well in the countryside. No matter how thirsty he is, he can’t risk drinking it - it smells like rot and poison. He lets down his hair, throws his shirt into the well, uses his belt to strap his handgun to his thigh, under his rolled up pants.

Even if it’s technically illegal, it’s not hard to find somebody to give him a ride on their rickshaw in exchange for a sloppy blowjob. He may not have anything left, but he still has his body and he’s always his mother’s son. One blowjob to Krong Kampong Cham, a gas station handjob to the outer districts of Phnom Penh, and then a very nice man takes him in for the night provided that Kaz fucks his wife while he watches. The rest is a blur of hiding in prostitutes’ little rooms from the police and sucking off foul-smelling truckers. Kinda nostalgic, really.

And that’s how Ocelot finds him a week later and rents him for a whole night.

Kaz doesn’t let the fact he’s recognized the man in the rented car show on his face. He ambles easily for the open window, leaning inside languidly.

"Business, honey?" he says, mimicking the broken English most people would expect from him.

"Get in."

"It cost you," he smiles, letting his hair flop over one eye.

"I’ve got the money for a whole night. Get in."

Kaz waves at the couple of friends he’s made in the past three weeks before getting into the car, knowing full well he’s not going to see them again.

Maybe when he has some funds he’ll come back to recruit them. Nobody slits throats quite like a prostitute.

They’re both quiet as Ocelot drives away. Kaz expects him to berate him for being careless, but he does not. Eventually, he can’t wait anymore.

"What happened to the men?"

"Whoever survived is done with Diamond Dogs, I can tell you that."

Kaz sighs, looking at his black-listed nails. "I assumed. Do we have a body count?"

"There is no we, Miller. I am not part of the Diamond Dogs and it is not my role to be your babysitter."

"Funny. I thought it was exactly that."

Ocelot grunts, turning into an underground parking lot. "At least a dozen, by what intel I’ve managed to scrounge up. For a while I thought you were between them, to be honest."

"Aww, were you worried for me?"

"I have better things to do with my time than cruising the seedy underbelly of Phnom Penh," he sighs, turning the engine off. “Come on.”

Kaz follows him meekly to his hotel room, in the only place that will take foreigners and the rich dignitaries that come to kiss Pol Pot’s ass. A western slap of luxury in the face of the children dying of malaria in the dark streets around it.

"Please shower," he says, crinkling his nose. “You smell terrible.”

Kaz leans over the doorframe, knowing full well how nice his legs look in his cutoffs and how cut his torso looks in the mesh shirt Nhean lent him on his first day on the street. "Want to share?"

Kaz could swear he sees the hesitation in Ocelot’s eyes, but it only lasts a split second. "No offense Miller, but I’d rather not catch any Cambodian venereal disease."

So would have Kaz, but beggars can’t be choosers, now can they. "Your loss."

He takes his sweet time in the ostentatious white marble bathroom. He bathed when he could during the past few days, but running water is still kind of a luxury for the kind of customer and friend he’s had. Showers, soaks himself into the tub, washes his hair at least three times. He does not need to shave - having a stubble would have gotten in the way of his chiseled jaw and hurt business.

Ocelot has ordered food when Kaz returns to the room wrapped in a blindingly white bathrobe. Kaz’s stomach growls, and Ocelot almost smiles as he waves at the table full of sandwiches and eggs and juice. "Help yourself. You must be hungry."

Kaz is starving. He doesn’t stop eating until he’s gasping for breath and most of the room service is gone. Ocelot doesn’t eat, just sips a glass of whiskey like the sophisticated asshole he is. Kaz finishes up his piece of cake and absolutely innocently runs his bare foot up the leather of Ocelot’s boot.


"I don’t have much else to show my....gratitude with, at the moment."

"You don’t have to..."

"I don’t like having debts," he cuts him off.

Ocelot stands. Kaz hooks his fingers into his belt, looking up at him under his wet bangs, pulls him closer.

"On your knees," says Ocelot quietly.

Kaz slides onto the floor. His bathrobe opens loosely. Ocelot pulls his head up with a gloved finger.

"You’re really talented at this, aren’t you."

Kaz doesn’t answer, just sucks the thumb that’s being pushed into his mouth. It tastes like leather and gunpowder.

"Maybe the mercenary business isn’t really for you," smiles Ocelot, thrusting his thumb in and out of Kaz’s mouth, pressing hard on his tongue. “Maybe you should give up. Pick up the business.”

Kaz bites down on the leather, fists balled in the terrycloth of the bathrobe.

Ocelot’s smile goes cold. "Or maybe not. Whores with tempers don’t last very long."

Kaz spits his thumb. "Like you’d know anything about it."

"Maybe I do," says Ocelot, stepping back and sitting back down. “Somehow I don’t think Snake told you nearly as much about me that he told me about you.”

Kaz grits his teeth, because the asshole is right and they both know this.

"Get some sleep," says Ocelot and nods at the only bed. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to the airport and pay you a ticket for wherever you want to go.”

"I don’t need..."

"You do, though." Ocelot’s eyes are cold and tired. He must have really been cruising for him for a while. “I don’t care for your sense of honor and to be honest, I don’t care what you do after you leave Cambodia. Stay out of trouble for once in your life, and we’ll be even.”

Kaz lowers his eyes. "Fine."

Ocelot stands again. "Now go to bed."

"Where...where are you going to sleep?"

Ocelot wipes his still shiny thumb in his scarf. "I’m going out. I have a contact to meet in an hour. I hope you didn’t think I came all the way here just for you, Miller?"

"Of course not," he mutters, getting to his feet.

"Glad we could come to an agreement."

The bed is incredibly soft and cleaner than anything Kaz has slept in for ages. Despite his better judgment, he’s asleep before Ocelot has closed the door.

Kaz doesn’t see Ocelot for a while after Cambodia, and maybe that’s for the best. He ends back in Colombia because that’s where he still has people that know him and won’t shut their doors in his face, couch surfing and quite honestly starving as he tries to find a way to get his operation back into shape.

He’s not expecting the phonecall he receives while nursing a warm beer in the bar he takes small odd jobs in; but he’s not surprised, per se, that Ocelot knew exactly where to find him.

"Haven’t heard about the Diamond Dogs in a while," he says through god knows how many proxies, his voice mocking. “Did you really pick up the other family business?”

"Very funny," he grunts. “The operation is on hiatus while I raise funds.”

"So I’m right."

Kaz grinds his teeth. "What do you want."

"Why, can’t a man check on an old friend?"

Kaz has to laugh. "We’re not friends, Ocelot. I don’t think you have any. You’d need a heart for that."

"How cutting."

"You know what, if you got the free time to bother me, I could use your assistance on a little project. You speak Russian, right?"

"It’s considered good form to, in the Red Army."

Kaz rolls his eyes. "There’s this guy a lot of people want to make deals with. They say he’s an USSR reject, and he does not speak anything but Russian. He usually has an interpreter but I think that having a native speaker..."

"Would get you an advantage."

"Exactly. You in?"

"Spending a weekend in Colombia catching up with the Russian mafia? Be still my beating heart."

"Aw, come on. If I can get this deal going, I can start operations again, I’m sure of it."

"Why do you even want to. Haven’t you gotten your base burned to the ground enough times?"

"Come over and I’ll tell you."

"Tempting, but not tempting enough."

Kaz makes his voice as husky as he can possibly manage. "I can make it worth your while, this time around."

He’s fairly confident he hears Ocelot swallow on the other side of the line.


"Fine. I’ll find you in about two days. Don’t get killed in the meantime."

"It’s a date," he says sweetly, just to hear Ocelot swallow again before closing the call.

Things are starting to look up. Third time’s the charm, he’s sure of it.

Ocelot is true to his word and turns up two days later at the bar, looking as if he doesn’t want to touch anything out of fear of catching cooties. Kaz waves him at his usual table, well secluded from the rest of the bar, and orders a whiskey for him.

"What a charming place," he snorts, sitting down gingerly.

"Beggars can’t be choosers. A lot goes on in this bar."

"I’m sure all of it incredibly edifying. So what is this deal you absolutely needed me for?"

Kaz draws lines in the sticky condensation rings on the table. "It’ Well. Drugs, to be honest."

"I see."

"Now, I know what you’re going to say, Snake never approved but...."

"I have no qualms against drug trafficking," cuts him off Ocelot, and smiles tightly at the barmaid bringing him a cloudy looking whiskey in a fingerprint-laden glass. “I’m not Snake, Miller, and I do not share his....moral quandaries.”

Kaz lets himself smile. "That’s great! That’s awesome, actually. Because you see, I’ve gotten the attention of one of the traffickers in the city, and he’s been trying to cut a deal with the Russian for months now. Apparently getting this deal would open up the market with the gangs in North America, but that’s not important. What’s important is: he’s going to pay me a lot of money for it."

Kaz is expecting Ocelot to ask how much money, or show something more than boredom, but he does neither. "I see."

"So far nobody has managed to get through the Russian and I think it’s because of the language barrier. If I show him that I’ve gone a long way to procure myself a native speaker..."

"I already agreed, Miller. Just point me at him."

Kaz smiles. "Well, as a matter of fact - he’s just entered the bar, just in time for our appointment."

Kaz had lied, but only a little bit. The deal he needed to seal was real, as was the fact nobody had managed to get through the Russian or his stonefaced interpreter. But he could have gotten somebody else.

No, he wanted Ocelot for this because he wanted to study him. See how much he changed when he needed to act Russian himself, more than the glimpse he’d seen back in Ethiopia.

It’s fascinating, really. Within a few minutes he and the Russian are reminiscing about the motherland or whatever the fuck Russians do, and the Russian is laughing and pouring vodka to both of them. But most importantly, Ocelot is laughing, too, and it looks genuine. He looks like a completely different person, his voice is different and so is his posture.

Kaz wonders, not for the first time, who the hell is the real Ocelot.

The deal goes smoothly. It’s a cakewalk. There’s a lot of vodka and really heavy back pats that nearly knock Kaz over but seem to barely register on Ocelot.

Kaz has almost lost track, distracted by the language he doesn’t understand, when Ocelot nudges him with his elbow. "Yeah?"

"Our guest wants to know if you have...samples."

"Samples! Yes, of course!" He fishes the little baggie from his jacket pocket, holding it up with two fingers. “The best of the best Colombia has to offer.”

Ocelot and the Russian exchange a few words, and then the Russian pulls out a flat golden case that at first looks like a cigarette case but upon opening reveals a mirror, a razorblade, and a shiny snorting straw.

"He assumes we don’t have a problem sampling the product first. For safety’s sake."

Kaz smiles easily, reaching for the case across the table. "Of course not. I trust my contact."

"That’s good."

Kaz cuts two neat lines of cocaine on the mirror, plugs a nostril and snorts one. It goes up smooth as butter - his contact really has some high quality stuff. He pushes the case to Ocelot and watches him take a clean hit, knock his head back when he’s done, long pale lashes fluttering.

There is a long moment of wait, before Ocelot nods. Kaz cuts two more lines, already feeling the heat rising along his nerve ends. He passes the case to the Russian with a flourish, and their guest gracefully accepts both lines.

"This is good," says Ocelot quietly. His pupils are already blown, his pulse visible in the open collar of his shirt, thumping against his scarf.

Kaz might be staring. A little bit.

"Good!" laughs the Russian. “Very good!”

Kaz laughs along. He likes this guy, and the expensive vodka that he’s pouring in their glasses again. "Another round?"

Everybody nods, and Kaz cuts three lines, one for each. His brain is already sparkling like champagne. He feels on top of the fucking universe. He’s gonna get this deal, he’s gonna be rich, he’s gonna drag Ocelot back to his hotel room and fuck him through the floor.

There’s two more rounds in the baggie, and after that it’s more vodka and Kaz is on fire. He even tries to speak some Russian himself, and their new best friend Misha is impressed.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow," they say as they part, shaking hands and patting backs. The deal is sealed, all they have to do is make Misha meet Kaz’s dealer. Smooth. Easy. Perfect.

Kaz is so fucking good at this. He catches Ocelot looking absently to where Misha and his interpreter disappeared to, and can’t stop grinning. He plants a hand on his ass.

It’s kinda flat but Kaz knows it’ll feel just great when he’s be buried in it.

Ocelot’s eyes are huge and dark, his lips spit-slick.

"Take me back to your room for a good time," growls Kaz in his ear.

Ocelot hails a taxi so fast he nearly knocks Kaz over. Kaz can’t keep his hands off him in the car. His skin is so hot, how is anybody this hot, how does anybody smell this fucking good in this tropical shithole of a country. The trip back to the hotel and Ocelot’s stupidly expensive room seems to take forever, Kaz is shaking with anticipation and frustration, he’s been hard and leaking for what seems like hours. And finally he’s got Ocelot pinned under him against the closed door, his cock hard against his thigh, his throbbing throat in Kaz’s palm....

Kaz squeezes.

Ocelot blinks.

"So," hisses Kaz, vibrating with the power of having him at his mercy. “Where is Snake?”

Ocelot blinks again.

Kaz squeezes harder, feeling his pulse thunder under his fingers, the sweat soaking his palm.

"You better tell me before I choke it out of you."

Ocelot laughs.

Kaz hesitates. He was not expecting that. And as he’s catching up with what’s going on, Ocelot kicks his legs from under him and the world goes tumbling.

Ocelot is thinner than him but he’s tall and so fucking strong? Fuck, he is spetsnaz, thinks Kaz disjointedly as his head hits the floor, both his wrists get pinned under incredibly pointy knees, and a forearm is pressed to his throat.

"Very cute, Miller. Did you think that little trick in the taxi?"

"It’s been three years," he snarls, trying to kick him off, his brain on fire. “You have to tell me! He’s my...”

"You being his little blonde midlife crisis does not give you a right to know his location. He is safe, and he won’t be if somebody like you knew."

"I wouldn’t tell!"

"You can’t even keep your fucking bases from going down in flames," hisses Ocelot.

Kaz tries to bite him.

Ocelot presses him down harder.

Kaz has never been angrier, or harder. And Ocelot can tell.

"You like this, don’t you?" he purrs, grinding on his hard cock. “Reminds you of how he used to throw you around?”

Kaz spits in his eye. "At least he threw me around. Bet you’re jealous of that."

"Oh, am I."

Ocelot leans down and bites his bottom lip, hard, almost all the way through. Blood fills Kaz’s mouth. His mind goes white.

Something smashes to the floor as they roll, trading blows and kissing violently. Clothes rip. There’s blood on their faces and hair, Kaz doesn’t know who it belongs to and it doesn’t matter.

It’s not him, but it’s almost, almost as good. Ocelot doesn’t completely bodily overpower him, but he also takes nearly a full minute to finger him before shoving his long cock deep into him and honestly? Fucking finally. About fucking time he has that annoying asshole between his legs fucking him fast and hard, biting his throat and his shoulders and everything feels so much right now, Kaz’s prostate is throbbing and his cock is dripping, trapped between them, and he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but he ends up coming first anyway with a breathless sob.

Ocelot takes his sweet time finishing, pulls out to come on Kaz’s chest and face. Asshole. By the time he’s done, Kaz is hard again.

Right. Cocaine. He makes to jerk himself off but Ocelot knocks his hand away, kneels between his legs and sucks him into his bloodstained mouth.

Oh man.

He’s good.

Kaz is pawing at his short hair, arching off the carpet with three fingers up his still sensitive ass, and coming down Ocelot’s throat in no time.

"Where the fuck," he pants, “did you learn that.”

"Who knows," smiles Ocelot, wobbling to his feet and towards the bathroom, turning to smile at him smugly. “Maybe the same place you learned it from.”

Kaz lies on the floor for a while, feeling spent and carpet-burned and incredibly well fucked. Ocelot comes back from the bathroom and drops a damp towel on Kaz’s stomach.

"Clean up."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe next time." He sits on the bed, stretching his long bare legs. “And as a reference for the future: I’ve had drug resistance training. I can’t possibly, at any time, be higher or drunker than you.”

Kaz laughs. "Fucking figures. And I thought I was so smart."

Ocelot seems to smile at him in a strange way, and then he pats the bed. "Come on up. We have a big business meeting tomorrow, don’t we?"

Kaz briefly considers sleeping on the floor just to spite him, but honestly. He’s going to be sore as hell already tomorrow, and the bed looks comfortable.

"You better not snore," he grunts, dropping on the other side of the ornate king size bed.

He falls asleep looking at Ocelot’s weirdly scarred hands on the white sheets. No wonder he always wears gloves.

He may not have found out where Snake is, but he has certainly learned a lot about his bizarre partner in crime tonight.