Chapter Text
He lifts his hat with one hand to drag his fingers through his hair with the other, and for a moment you think it's the most elegant movement you've ever seen, more graceful than art or dance or birds in flight, and then you remember how he looks when he shoots and you feel goddamn lightheaded with arousal. And this is the moment you realize you might be in deeper than simply the teeny tiny little crush you thought you had on your teammate.
"Fuck," you say, cheerful.
Sniper turns, drops his hat on his head, flicks the brim back for a better view of you, and raises a brow behind those stupid glasses. "Ya good?"
"I just remembered a thing, just have to take care of a chore back at base," You lie easily, watch the half nod you get from Sniper in some kind of understanding or agreement, and try not to snicker about the double entendre he hasn't heard. You'll have to take care of something alright, yourself.
It's muggy out, and overcast, and a billion god damned degrees, and since the match is officially over Sniper has peeled off his vest and button down, and is now wearing a white tee shirt that you hadn't actually ever paid attention to before. You've done the same, to be fair, slipping off your over shirt and standing around in just your racerback shirt and bra as soon as the final alarm rang out.
It had been a shitty, overheated, sweaty fuckfest of a match, but your team had been ahead enough that after a particularly painfully drawn out death you had made a temporary retreat with twenty minutes on the clock. You had been lurking around respawn just trying to avoid another grim death when you'd watched an approaching enemy Soldier turn the corner then drop like a sack of bricks before he could get his gun up. Which, great, you'd wanted to not die as much as possible, thank you. But it wasn't the first enemy that had collapsed before your eyes recently, in fact it was the second time it had happened today and the fifth this week.
With no other threats immediately apparent, you had time to look around for an explanation, which revealed Sniper giving you a quick salute-slash-wave before once more sighting down the scope of his rifle. You had chewed your lip for a moment in contemplation, then decided to climb up to Sniper's nest to guard the ladder for him as a thank-you for the help. When the match ended a few minutes later you realized you'd both just been chit chatting as he picked off a few last enemies from a distance and you stared at an open trapdoor like a moron. And hell, between the trapdoor and the open window there was a breeze in this room, and shade, and there'd be eight sweaty guys arguing in the locker room, so you just hadn't left the nest as of yet. That was the reason.
Now the two of you are alone, underdressed together, in the heat, once more just jabbering at one another about canned meat of all things.
Sniper sighs, leans back in the rickety chair he had at some point scrounged up for this little room, and glances out the window at the approaching sunset.
"We should probably head out: no point stayin in the arena all sweaty and exhausted forever. Locker room should be empty by now."
You nod, watch him stretch his legs slightly, his tight jeans wrinkling and folding at the knees and hips and where they bunch against his boots. You can clearly imagine kneeling between those long legs, running your fingertips up and behind denim-clad calves to hook behind his knees and pull him closer, you can almost hear the quiet click of zipper teeth parting, the scrape of his feet braced as-
"I got somethin on me boots?"
"Nah!" You jerk upright in your seat, feeling the unforgiving wooden crate under your ass budge not a millimeter from the movement. "Just thinking is all. Hey, you think you can shoot that fenceline from here?" You point out the window, past buildings and towards the desert.
Sniper's eyebrows rise, and he nods, "Sure, easy." He's humoring you, you know that, but it's still satisfying when he shrugs and hefts his rifle in one hand to bring it across his lap. "Give me a target."
You squint out the open window, shading your eyes when you have to lean out into the sunlight a bit. After searching for something far enough away to pose a challenge you nod, "There: between the hill to the northeast and the little copse of trees, you see that fenceline? Middle of the three posts."
Sniper scoffs, glances out, then nods again, "Sure, not even a challenge. But it's thick enough that a single bullet might not break it, we won't be able to tell if I hit if it doesn't fall."
"Then hit three times," You grin at him. "If it's so easy, you should be able to put a nice little cluster at the base and drop it. We should be able to see that from here."
Sniper stands, leans out the window, peers again at the fenceline in question, then at you, then at the fence.
"Why'm I doin this again?"
"Cuz I asked. What, I gotta bet you that you can't, goad you into it?"
"What you gonna bet," Sniper says flatly, purses his lips for a moment and considers you, his gaze like a wave of chill against the heat of the day. You try not to bite your lip in open want. His words are a challenge, because it's not like money matters to you anymore, not with this job.
"Uh, I'll do yer laundry? I take a shift of dinner or cleaning duty?"
"M not on the roster: don't live with yous, don't eat there, never got put into chore rotation. And I can do my own damn laundry, thanks."
"Shit, I dunno then. I'll owe you a favor, whatever."
He nods, slow, and sits back down in the folding chair. You take a step back, standing a bit behind him, ostensibly to see his shot. You only glance at the fence post once as he scoots his seat to the right position, then your eyes are on him as he shoulders the rifle, sights down the barrel, and exhales slowly. You are just barely able to see his finger move from resting on the trigger guard to brushing the trigger itself, then his whole body jerks with the loud crack of a shot fired.
He's turned away from you and can't see, so you let yourself bite your lip, let your thighs tense with just how much want just crashed over you. Your brain keeps thinking the about his fingers on you, over and over, wondering about his dexterity, what it would feel like to have him pressed against you, his hand in your unzipped pants, and would he toy with you gently or fuck you with those long digits? Would he pump them up, into you, strong and hard and god, just a little rough?
Sniper's perfect hands throw back the bolt smoothly, chamber another round, and before you have time to even appreciate the flex of his shoulders under that thin white tee he's exhaling and firing again. This time you're paying even more attention to the recoils effect, able to see the way he tenses his shoulders and core to absorb the blow back from the shot. You see the minimal drag of his boot along the ground as he's pushed ever so slightly back, the tic in his jaw when he reloads again, the way his jeans go tight over his calves as he digs his feet in to keep from being moved too far.
God, the tension in his body, the core strength it must take not to get thrown around from each shot. You're picturing flexed thighs, the tense oblique muscles that must line his ribs, and you want to drag your nails along both, want to be the bucking thing he has to keep still with all that power.
"Fuck," you hiss unintentionally, then pray he hasn't heard.
He chuckles low but doesn't look up, taking aim and firing off one last round before leaning back and relaxing. Your brain supplies the image of him languid and satiated post coitus, laying back in that camper bed of his, and you imagine the two of you would be stinking sex and sweat at that point, and…
"How was that?" He's asking.
You resist saying 'amazing' since you're pretty sure it'd be a dead giveaway in regards to your lust, and instead you try to remember where the hell he was shooting. You search for the fence post with your gaze, and panic when you can't find it. He's going to realize you were watching him and not the target.
"Where the hell..?' You mutter, looking between the copse and the hill where there are absolutely no fence posts. Are you looking at the right trees, the right hill?
"Guess one round was enough to take the posts out, musta been old and half rotted."
"I'm not seeing the post at all. Hell, I'm not even seeing any posts, am I looking in the right place?"
"That's because they're all flat down," Sniper says, standing and stretching slowly. His knees crack a little when he stands and you blink. Three perfect shots, one for each post out there, and you saw none of them fall because you were checking him out. Sniper leans the rifle to the side of the window, then turns to look at you, "Dropped em with one shot each. But you weren't lookin, were ya?"
"Ah, I got… Distracted."
"I noticed."
"Did you now?" You ask. You're not sure where this is going and are half terrified and half thrilled at getting called out this way. "How'd you notice that while facing away from me?"
Sniper shrugs dismissively, but uses the motion to amble a step closer to you. "Saw the reflection of ya behind me in the scope lens. Didn't seem like you were looking downrange."
"You saw that in the scope reflection?" You cross your arms, sure that he's lying now and didn't see you checking him out at all. "Your own big head wasn't in the way for that?"
"Well I wasn't lookin down the scope anyhow," He demurs, another half step closer. For all your crossed arms and lingering uncertainty, his body language is wide open, thumbs hooked in his back pockets, weight shifted to seem casual, like he's a god-damn movie star.
You play back what he said in your head.
"Wait. You shot that with the ironsights?!"
Sniper just nods.
You can't not say it, you can't repress it, you're just objectively correct so you own it, "Jesus christ, that's incredibly fuckin hot."
Sniper grins, sharp teeth flashing, blushing just the barest hint of pink high on his cheeks, and you grin back.
"Were you trying to impress me?" You uncross your arms and mimic his hands-in-pockets pose, toeing at a rock on the ground idly, using the motion to inch closer.
"Mighta been."
"And when you popped that enemy Soldier's head today?"
"Yeh."
"And all week?"
"All month," Sniper murmurs, and you look up in surprise to realize you're quite close to one another now. You can see his eyes clearly this close, even though his glasses, and watch his gaze dart from your eyes to lips to that scar you forget you have most days.
"All month? You've been trying to… You-"
Unsure what you're trying to say, you pull your hands from your pockets, swing your arms, rub one palm awkwardly. You notice the stubble on his cheeks is already visible, though he looked clean shaven this morning. His sideburns are just a little uneven. The scar that jumps from his nose to cheek actually trails all the way to his ear. It's all terribly endearing to you right now.
"Well, I've been trying to sort out how to even attempt ta get your attention for a few months. But a couple'a weeks ago, figured I get a good sight of ya all day, and maybe. Maybe I can't manage big gestures, ya know? Just make your day a bit simpler. Even if you never noticed," Sniper gestures with one hand, a half shrug, palm up, and god, those big hands. After the motion ends you catch that hand in your own, slowly lacing your fingers between his.
"You've got my attention now," You use your joined hands to pull him closer, until you're looking up at the face you've been daydreaming about for months. "Can't think of much anything but you, lately."
"Yeah?" Sniper asks, but it's just something to say as he reaches up with his free hand to tip your chin to the side, then he kisses you.
It's infuriatingly good, and you want to shout in vindication about being right about so many things. His lips are softer than you expected, but hesitant only for an instant, and the kiss grows bolder as he moves the hand from your chin to your waist. When he parts his lips you absolutely seize the invitation and do the same, letting your tongue trace his lower lip, meeting him by slanting your jaw, threading fingers through the hair at the back of his head to pull him closer.
You can't even tell when the kiss escalates to something more passionate and desperate, it's slow and building and a feedback loop of 'yesyesyes', but suddenly Sniper has both hands on your ass, lifting you to sit in the windowsill, and you're hands are all over him, tugging him closer by his hair and shirt and belt loops. It should feel precarious, perched on the edge of a drop-off into the void, but you're exhilarated and safe with two strong arms pulling you flush against him. Then Sniper bites your lip, and you moan into his mouth, and he smiles against you at the sound. You slide a hand into one of his back pockets, use the leverage to grind against him only to find him rock hard in his jean, and he presses back into you with a soft noise, fingers spread wide across your hips and ass-
There's nowhere behind you but open air, so you tilt your head down, forehead and nose still pressed against his, and breathe in big gulping pants. You keep your eyes closed for two long heartbeats, sure that if you look at him right now you'll rip his clothes off and you don't want that. Not yet, at least.
"Christ," Sniper mutters, and you look into his too-close blurry eyes and smile again. Can't seem to stop doing that.
He brushes your noses together once, twice, and you lean back scant centimeters to get a better look at his expression. There's a beautiful mix of affection and lust on his face, eyes dark and wanting but smiling like he also wants to shout vindication to the world. You imagine you look the same.
"I seem to remember I won a bet," Sniper drawls, hand running up from hip to waist to ribs on you, breathing warm against your skin.
"Yeah. One favor." You think you probably sound too excited about this, but it's hard to care at the moment.
Sniper pulls you gently forward, and your feet hit the floorboards of the room again. You are once more grounded, you think, and he is still here, still trailing fingers up the back of your arm and smiling.
"Alright, simple one, tell the truth: what were you thinkin about when I was shootin just now?"
You want to just be honest, but it's a little challenging to just say it. Even after that kiss. And besides, if you wanted to say it, would you summarize? Would you give detail? How to even explain..?
"Hey," His voice is low. "You don't have to tell me. I jus thought-"
He starts to back away just a little, probably to give you space to breathe. He thinks you're embarrassed or shy, and you are, but- You don't know what he thinks, but you grab his shirt and clench your fists, keeping him in place.
"No, wait. I do, I want… I want to tell you. I can't find the words, just give me. Give me a second. Is just… It mighta been a little dirty." You close your eyes, breathe deep twice. You can hear him laugh under his breath.
"Now I'm invested."
"Fuckin," You cut yourself off with a laugh, keep your eyes closed. "Okay. I was thinking about your hands and uhm. Jesus, how much core strength shooting must take? And the uses of core strength. Many and varied uses. And the way your legs look in those jeans. Uh, fuck, it's embarrassing to say out loud."
Sniper moves from holding onto your hips to holding your hands, pulling them free from his shirt, and the moment feels more intimate than sexy somehow.
"You think about my hands a lot?" He sounds gentle, just curious, and squeezes your hands with his own. The air tastes less heady somehow, your lust sublimating into something less frantic.
"Yeah, god yeah. You got gorgeous hands, Snipes, maybe that's weird to say, but man, just. Pianists hands." These words are easier, but you still close your eyes.
"Saxophone, actually," He corrects.
You manage not to open your eyes to grin at him with glee, instead you just squeeze them tighter closed and mutter at him, "Knew you were a fuckin musician, knew it: too sexy not to be a musician. Perfect hands, long limbs, cheekbones to cut glass, eyes like a thunderstorm or a flash flood or a thunderhead racing over the horizon-"
"So you can't tell me what you were thinking about without stammering, but you can grab my ass and wax eloquent enough to make me blush?" He sounded amused.
"Compliments are easy when they're objectively true, Snipes. Knew you'd be trouble the moment I saw you."
"Really now," Sniper sounds amused. He squeezes your hands and you open your eyes. You watch the way his gaze darts from your eyes to lips and back, the way his own lips part when you give him your undivided attention.
"Tall, mysterious, legs up to here? Whip smart too," You do grin now, trying to lighten your words. "Just my type, even before I saw you gut a man. Which, honestly, probably not a healthy sign. Gonna be real with you here Sniper, I may have red flags hanging off me by the yard, getting hot and bothered by watching a nice guy like you chop someone mostly in half. You probably shouldn't let me get any more invested in you than this."
"M not exactly a nice bloke," Sniper says. "What with chopping folks mostly in half. But I'd like to get invested in ya all the same, if you're offering."
You laugh suddenly at that, but tighten your grip on his hands until you can stop the giggles, wanting to be sure he knows it isn't laughter at his expense. He looks confused all the same, so you have to try to explain.
"Sorry it's just. It seems bizarre, two killers… What, we're gonna go steady? Take me out on a date to the cinema and walk me home? Talk about our favorite colors and music and books?"
Sniper stares at you, then rattles off your favorite color and band and the very dog-eared book currently on your nightstand. His smile is so much more gentle than you're prepared for.
"What?" You aren't at your most eloquent in the face of his tenderness.
"We've lived together a bit now, sheila, and 's not a big base exactly. Can't be surprising I know ya alright. We don't really need all that shit, the first dates and favorite colors. I'm not askin ya out for an egg cream at the local drug store."
"But you are asking me out?" You clarify. You'd assumed this was going to be a physical thing, that he'd seen your attraction, decided he was not against a few liaisons with a teammate, and kissed you accordingly. He'd said a month, though, that he'd wanted your attention for a month.
"Well… Yeah. Suppose I am. Can't really go far, but maybe stargazing, this weekend?"
"Fuck, yes. Absolutely," You probably would have that reaction to anything he proposed right now to be fair.
And the thought of stargazing on the roof of his camper with romance and softness is quickly followed by the thought of a heated makeout on the roof of his camper with hands down pants, so apparently there's a little lust left to wring out of you. You glance down, realizing that you're still holding hands like teenagers, and gently unlace your fingers.
"Roight, we should probably pack up," Sniper steps back, beginning to gather his spare ammunition and rifle, shrugging back on his over-shirt and vest. "Could both use showers."
Your brain supplies the image of Sniper's long form under a hazy spray of water and you nod, "Yep, yes, a shower. Cold for me."
Sniper snorts a laugh as you gather your own gear and slip down the ladder to ground level after him. A glance at the ground halfway down the ladder reveals he is absolutely staring at your ass, and you honestly can't fault him. There's a moment when your feet hit the dirt that aches, makes you feel like all the touching, kissing, talk of lust and maybe affection, was in another world. You don't want to leave that world, not at all, and you're not sure how to keep it here, in the now of RED base and reality.
Sniper solves that issue by stepping into your space, towering over you and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulls away it is by inches and not feet, and so you just nod up at him.
"Stargazing tonight?" You ask hopefully.
"Yeah," He agrees, and then does step back by feet, his steps carrying him towards his camper presumably. "See you at dusk?"
"Yeah," You nod again and try to think of a way to spend the four hours to sunset that isn't just fantasizing in the shower.