Sep 10, 2021
"It's only gay if you make it gay, Comrade."
"Pretty sure I just did, big guy."
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"It's only gay if you make it gay, Comrade."
"Pretty sure I just did, big guy."
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@ex-socom
Clint knocked on the door to their newest addition to their little organization.
Okay. Okay. Okay. Breathe. Breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. All you’re doing is meeting a person that your boss wants you to spy on. A person that your boss deemed suspicious enough that he wanted you to spy on him.
Oh gods, he can’t do this!
Clint turned to start leaving. He’ll just- He’ll just say that he met the other when he didn’t! He’s been improving on his lying, after all. Maybe Saddler wouldn’t immediately see through it.
⚠️"The giant self-made propeller headed man in the basement is odd. Not going to lie."
Send ⚠️ + something to shame this fucker || accepting
"Sturm's certainly stupid. ---Has probably about half a single braincell left, cut his own arms off with that damn propeller, but... he's strong. That's what's most important 'bout him and therefore, he's a success!"
"Y'know... There's always installing bells on your doors. Maybe Roisin won't be able to take you out with a shoe, next time." He's snickering.
heisenberg allows himself to step away from his current project, scraps and parts laid out on a silver table, and he pulls up a smaller stool, wheeling it under his legs so he can finally take a proper seat. quite honestly, he’d forgotten how long he'd been working on his feet. his body nearly goes deadweight with the motion ; shoulders droop forward and he's pressing a couple fingers against his temple — begrudgingly defeated. no matter how he answers this one, he's going to look stupid, isn't he ? " i can install something right between those two bulging eyes of yours. " his hand raises and he brings the fingers together, mimicking the shape of holding a dart. he slowly sails the hand forward, and his lips purse to whistle the sound effect of the dart falling, slowly — ‘ wheeeeeew ~ ! ‘ — and splattering right in the center of krauser's forehead. " the target's fuckin' big enough. "
"Half of the time you're so pretty. The other half I wanna fucking strangle you."
"I see no reason we can't have both," Leon responds, cheeky smile tempered with the cynicism of age and consequent exhaustion. He's still the same man, in a way, but so much has changed, the snark is often a veneer.
It isn't easy to hide things from Jack Krauser, however. The man has always apprehended Leon's moods, quirks, and movements with little effort.
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Big spoon (Leon)
Settling back into Krauser’s embrace is easier than Leon had thought it would be. The man feels the same as he did before, or close enough. He’s hard and warm and his arms are like hot girders, wrapped tightly about Leon’s lithe frame. They’ve both changed, but maybe those changes have only made them fit together better. The irony of falling fast asleep in the arms of such dangerous man is not lost on Leon’s subconscious.
Big spoon, little spoon
"So..." Krauser mused, looking Leon up and down, no animosity, no worry. It's something else in the large man's eyes as he slowly gets up from his improvised seat in the jungle, approaching Leon like a predator would their prey.
He stopped just short, Leon able to feel the heat radiating off of him as he gave the rookie Agent a smirk, then pulled him firmly into a kiss, a rumble escaping the soldier's throat, hungry for something that hadn't been there before at the start of the mission, but was absolutely there, now.
Leon stood tall, not wanting his companion to look down on him—relatively speaking, of course; Jack Krauser was quite a sizable fellow. Agent Kennedy was highly-trained, nabbed from Raccoon City immediately following its sanitization and thrown into intensive training. Deemed an expert on the subject, he’d been asked to ID other survivors. Leon had refused. Over and over, he had been pressured—if he’d been tortured, he wouldn’t be telling that, either. In the end, he worked for the government who all but kidnapped him, but hey… it was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, as his father had been known to say.
His training had not prepared him for this. His hands came instinctively upward to push at Krauser’s chest, the protest and reminder that they were on a mission in a jungle full of deadly creatures, natural and otherwise, evidently, dying on lips claimed by his partner’s. The push turned into a grab as his fingers curled into the fabric of the man’s shirt and he realized just how long it had been since anyone had…
Businesslike, his mind snapped to and, strangely pleasant as this extra warmth was in the heat of the jungle, he wrested himself free and frowned. “I don’t know what you think I am, Krauser, but it’s not that.”
Not what, precisely? Upon that, he wasn’t going to elaborate. Right now, he was a professional, an agent on a mission in a precarious situation. Did he want what the man was offering? Absolutely.
“Not… here…” He didn’t know why he added that last part—consolation, perhaps?
"You're tempting fate, Leon..." Krauser almost growled, almost purred, gleefully pinning Leon to the wall, a sneer on his scarred lips. Lots of homoerotic tension, here.
Leon's chest heaved with shallow breaths, his heart hammering. He was usually the picture of detached calm; it was his MO. Krauser had always been able to get under his skin, however. He was so forward, so powerful, so ... shit, what was the word? Male?
“It’s kinda my thing.”