#mencnfire

a soft brush of the backs of knuckles atop skin - a refined cheekbone, traced with touch. volgin's gaze follows his own movement, watches for the breaths of the other - ears pricked for a moan, his own lips eager for a taste. his touch is surprisingly soft and yet the scars of his hands would not go unnoticed. old traces of pain carved into the stony skin of a man more monster than human. does raikov see him as much? he ought to. "i will never grow tired of you-" he speaks in his mother tongue, words a purr - a dangerous one. is volgin's love a blessing or a curse? - perhaps the other knows ( his body certainly would ).

it's akin to a fairy tale, the way raikov finds himself melting helplessly, voluntarily, desperately in his lover's hands. his breath hitches, taut chest rising and falling and shuddering with every staggered inhale, exhale. and his eyes are closed, of course, ebony lashes dark against his snow white skin -- nothing is more important to a soldier than his eyes, and ivan would place his in volgin's palms a hundred times over.

❝ nor will i ever grow tired of you, molniya. ❞ he coos on the tail end of a delicate moan. and it's true, oh, how it's true ; he feels as though their veins themselves are laced together in an unbreakable tie. symbiotic. dependent. perfect.

pink lips still bearing the traces of lipstick find purchase in kissing the scarred hand caressing his cheek. he kisses so tenderly his lips may as well be ghosting over the harsh breaks in skin, deep and dark scarred flesh torn across large palms that nonetheless cradle him like porcelain. his own hand settles over volgin's, small and flawless in comparison, slim fingers sliding between the other man's. the subtle thrum of electricity buzzes through his bloodstream, every throb of his heart a reminder of its presence, of volgin’s presence, and how the younger man let him utterly possess him.

*insert the "I'll slit your throat", "You're beautiful" meme*

( to liquid from kaz ) - "you've not changed a bit-" miller is older now, wiser. his anger subsided though rage would remain in the phantom pain he'd forever carry. he doesn't hold any resentment toward the blonde, hardly knows him in fact. but he's been informed of his allegiances, he knows that he works alongside ocelot now as kazuhira had once done the same. "look the same as you did as a kid." a shrug of his shoulders ( one arm, now prosthetic ). "still got the same sorta attitude?"

Liquid had been tailing this one for some time, and eventually found the location of his current residence. Originally, the plan had been for Ocelot to use his methods, and quietly take out the other, but the blonde had other ideas. He folded his arms across his bare chest, as the coat on him hardly covered that area, due to either just a style choice of his, or how incredible his physique was. The questions lingered in his head for a few seconds, before he decided to answer.

  “Miller! Why, of course I do!” He sounded so chipper, so glad, but there was that tinge of sarcasm in his tone. Liquid Snake was seething with his own sort of anger, but it had everything to do with the world as a whole, not just for this man. “Are you having fun on your little ‘vacation’?” The past he was trying to ignore and forget, but recalled their time together enough. All to quickly wipe it away, and focus on the present between them. “You’re looking quite good for your age, I must say.”

It wasn’t the first time Volgin had asked to speak with him—this time the other seemed much more irritable then usual. Icy gaze followed the man’s movements in front of him, arms folding beating across his chest and his head tilting ever so slightly. Adamska was good at playing a role—he also had a feeling that maybe Volgin wasn’t as smart as one would think—though being outed as a liar of all things, made a brow raise.

Being a spy wasn’t difficult work—not for him. He was trained his entire life for operations like this. There was no worry on his part—or perhaps, too much confidence in himself.

“A liar?” He repeated, playing dumb. There was no way in hell that he did anything to give himself away. Idly, he shifted the weight of his legs from one side to the other, a hand brought to his own chin in thought.

Knowledge was power, as the old saying went. Though rare was the opportunity to discover such riches, rarer still were the connections a man like him could maintain for any extended period of time. This line of work was beyond dangerous, a realm of chaos and fraudulent perceptions - which suited Roche quite finely.

Still, it was not all it was cracked up to be; being a man on the inside, for here behind the tallest walls centralised within the industrial marvel that was, indeed, Midgar this SOLDIER wanted out -- away from the hustle of the daily grind, to be freed from the figurative shackles chained about his throat.

And yet he would hesitate still, holding in his palm the burner-phone acquired and delivered onto Roche's person by an apparent mutual friend... only one number stored in the devices memory. The blond did not know this person of whom was expecting his call, nor the information he wished to garnish nor its true value.

Nerves eventually giving way to the simplicity of morbid curiosity, he would dial that number, pressing the phone to his ear and await that tell-tale click of the call connecting.

"Ten seconds to name your prize-" the common spiel gifted to those in the know. And clearly, whoever was on the opposite end of that crackling line was already well informed of one Roche SOLDIER Third Class and his uncanny talents of brokering such precious intel.

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓, its lineaments are messily scribbled and its core has been painted with hasty brush - strokes. for a long time, has serpent attempted to imagine the true face of freedom [ ... ] but a life outside of her bone - wrought bastille has neither shapes nor edges, neither hues nor shadows ▬▬ it is a blank canvas, its walls embellished by empty frames and virgin portraits. and mayhap, this is why her heart does not lament something that it has never truly known ; he longs for that world that once crowned him with the epithets of both hero and weapon, she longs for something that is unnamed and unknown in equal measure.

it is with a deft movement that she tugs onto the rough fabric of the bed sheet, a cut oddly precise considering that her attention has yet to fully shift from him. days have ultimately blurred into each other, it would be impossible to precisely known for how long this ritual between them has been repeated, but serpent is a creature of habit and thus cares little for the existential tedium that has discolored and then darkened the anguish - carved faces of those around them. ❝ is it alright if i put a bandage around the wound ? at least you won't have to see it constantly. ❞

doll - like features are alight, their sharp edges perpetually molded into an harlequin simper ( a reminder to the world that she is still a fanged predator despite the heavy shackles, a reminder to herself that true happiness is still waiting for her somewhere and that this shall never signify the end of her pursuit ) . the black python remains idly coiled around her right leg, a breathing chain hewn in black scales: she assumes that it must not have been easy for the others to grow accustomed to its presence, to the continuous image of its jewel - like fangs and stiffening muscles.

❝ if you could get out of this place immediately, what is the very first thing that you would do ? ❞ voice is mellow and sugar - coated, entirely unburdened by the horrors of their shared circumstances. ❝ surprise me. ❞

  "Hmm...” Cold blue eyes locked with his face, as he had turned his gaze elsewhere, but she could tell he had been looking for quite a long while. It was interesting to her, if only so briefly, and a thought did occur to have this continue on. So, she took a few strides closer, thinking that this was something needing her attention, and her soft tone quietly demanded.

  “Look at me.”

The Boss was given that name for a reason, and when she had to put other’s in a right state-of-mind, she would be completely up to that task. There was definitely some cloud of distraction over the large man, and she wondered what could be going on with him. Whenever she did have his attention would she lean forward a little, just enough so that her face would be in full view of his, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly to assess him.

  “You do look a little lost... Tell me, then... What is on your mind? Is it the serpent that sneaks around our facilities causing you some unrest? Do not worry... He won’t be much of a problem, soon enough. I have plans to derail his mission.” Which was a half-truth, but she would only execute them if it truly came to having to stop her former student...

It was a confusing mission to say the least; go back in time, take out the one who started this entire mess, the legendary Big Boss, and make your way back, if you possibly can. He was not sure what to feel when the time portal flung him out, and his skintight suit managed to take the brunt of the extreme forces that worked to propel him through space and time. Yet, even with it’s incredible micro-layers of protection, he still felt the burns of ice and fire on his skin underneath.

A cry of pain left his throat, finding himself in the middle of a forested area, and he took in his surroundings. There was a building in the distance, and he stumbled his way over to it, sword hooked onto him, but he would refrain from using it until he spotted any sort of danger. A murder of crows screeched overhead, and startled him, but he kept on going forward. This, if he remembered right, should be the place where it all began; a facility that housed the famous Shagohod.

He made it to a fence, and concrete guarding in a wide perimeter, where he proceeded to jump over. It was a wrong move to make as his body screamed at him to just not move anymore, but he ignored that pain, gasping for air as he stood up from the leap he just did.

Once up, he noticed there was a swarm of guards staring, and pointing their weapons at him. How he managed to not stay hidden was a mistake on his part, and he brought his blade up with a fearful expression on his face, lightning streaking off it’s shine in a threatening manner. “INTRUDER!!” They shouted at him, and prepared to shoot if they needed to, radioing for the alarms to go off all around.