#warmongered

what a goddamn joke of a quote. crane isn't even sure he really enjoys what he does - he gets satisfaction out of a job well done, sure, but in the moment he's usually more stressed than anything. it's ironic to think that sometimes he misses working with crime families; at least they all generally were consistent with their injuries and how they took medical advice (poorly).

it had all started with boar. a decent soldier, doesn't come through the medical bay often - except for earlier that morning, when he had been wheeled in by a combat medic. shot somewhere vital - he needed a suboccipital procedure, and fast. he was on his feet for hours in the operating theater, working by inches. even when the bullet was out, it was barely half the work.

when all is said and done, he's hours behind schedule, and exhausted beyond all belief. he has to take an assortment of files back with him to the office at what was supposed to be the end of his workday, only to continue to work well into the night.

he's already planning out what he has to do tomorrow - follow-up on boar's condition, doing all the work he had to put off in combination with what he already had on schedule to begin with. the stress is mounting into a headache when the door to his office opens. crane doesn't need to look up to know who it is - there's only one man on mother base who comes by his office this late without knocking.

he doesn't say anything, can't even spare a second to even think of something to say. crane is trying to stay focused on what work he still has left… but kazuhira remains in his peripherals. he's too tired to entertain him like he usually does… and yet, somehow, part of him still wants for his presence.

maybe… well, he had been saving one idea for a rainy day with work still on the table. he keeps his work and personal affairs separate as a rule, but he wasn't technically on the clock, so this would do just fine.

when kaz speaks, he decides there's nothing for it. he stands, closing the file, before reaching with his hand and grabbing kaz's jaw hard. he watches any further attempts he was going to make at speaking leave him just like that, and can finally feel some contentment today just on that alone.

"College, huh? I'll bet you knew some cute co-eds."

Snake is not an academic person. He can read and write competently, and he has no problem keeping up with complex ideas, but his knowledge is much more physical, lessons learned through the body.

Kaz had a life without him in it, once. A civilian life, at least for a while. Snake barely remembered high school.

james has kazuhira on his back in three seconds flat, reflective chrome surfaced prosthetic an impossible vice at his ascot. it's dominating, a heavy three hundred pounds (90 of it directly over the span of his chest, the weight of the arm alone enough to smother) melding kazuhira to the floor. or, at least, acquainting him with it.

embarrassment wicks up into the fear as water to a sponge. he wets his lips, quickly retreating to full height, reticent to offer that same disabling prosthetic.

' shit--.. shit, i'm--sorry, miller, i.. really didn't mean to. just, don't touch me unless it's necessary, please. '

crane is operating on pure, unfiltered instinct as he tugs kazuhira here and there - pinning him to his desk, yanking on his scarf like a lead only to whisper the most provocative thing he can think of. it rolls off his tongue without any filtering from his brain first, something that he would've been against even an hour ago; he's finding that the man beneath him changes him without much effort as soon as he's within arm's reach.

they're the right words, crane relishes the way kazuhira sucks in a quick breath, the way his skin flushes a deeper tone. he watches his imagination flicker across those eyes, ocean-blue and captivating in a way crane can't deny, the gears turning in kazuhira's mind before he seems to come back into the present, dragging their hips together. the friction makes him exhale.

some flattery manages to stumble it's way out of kaz's lips, and crane can hardly retort before his head is being guided down, into the exposed crevice of his neck. his next move isn't thought out either, he just moves - pulling the scarf down to bare more of his throat and then sinking his teeth there, nipping at him hard enough to bruise before pulling back and sucking on the mark he's left.

“⠀says the man who is always running his.⠀” crane murmurs against his skin, holding him fast by the scarf with one hand while his other drifts down and grabs him by the hip. he's not sure what he's going to do; this hadn't been his intention going in, he has no preparation to speak of, and certainly no experience. that's kazuhira's expertise, and he's surrendering himself to crane's lack of it at the moment. overthinking it was clearly the wrong way to go.

he rolls his hips and lets the sensation that races up his spine blur any rationality he's got going for him - he brings his teeth back to kaz's throat and keeps leaving marks, pressing the growing hardness in his pants against kazuhira's own and groaning lowly against him. his hand leaves the scarf and slides to the back of his head, digging his fingers into blonde hair to yank his head back further, to give him more skin to work with.

“⠀if the boss catches you with these, do you think he'll drag your ass back out in front of everyone?⠀” he almost laughs to imagine it, that display he'd been party to (along with a majority of MSF) a few months ago. ironic to think that he had wondered how anyone fell for kazuhira's cheap flirtations… not that he would say he's fallen for him, per se. it was purely physical attraction to a man - something he has never allowed himself to examine too close before, kept neat in it's box with all the other things crane doesn't want to think about.

with clumsy, unknowing hands, kazuhira tore that box wide open - and then even had the gall to deny it for a time. the irritation he associates with the memory is like an extra kick to his instincts; he drags his tongue over his most recent mark before pulling his head back up and crushing his mouth to kazuhira's hungrily. another roll of his hips, before he pants and releases his hair.

What is he trying to prove? This wouldn't be the first time he's pondered that question.

FOXHOUND consists of only the most elite members of the military world the United States could find. Every serving member alongside the vast majority of the recruits has some kind of military background; many of them used to be mercenaries. All of them have far more experience on the battlefield than Snake does, and yet despite only serving in Iraq for a few missions he was still chosen over countless other candidates.

He knows he stands out in more than just title and experience. Not many of his fellow FOXHOUNDers got the opportunity to train so closely under both Gray Fox and Big Boss.

Fox is... complex. A mentor, his closest friend, and simultaneously something more. The Boss, on the other hand, he holds only immense respect for, and he can't help but see something paternal in him. Not as an actual parental figure but more so as a guiding point of authority, someone who he looks up to with honor and loyalty.

Which still begs the question; what, exactly, is he trying to prove?

It's what led Snake to push himself to the point of near-collapse today during the Hellmaster's latest training routine for the recruits. FOXHOUND is the only place where he's ever felt like he truly belongs, and he wants to prove that he's worthy of the honor to even be here.

He only stopped for a moment, just to catch his breath, but apparently long enough for his instructor to come up on him while he tries not to keel over from overexerting himself. The moment he sees Miller in his field of vision he immediately straightens up, trying to look a little less winded.

crane misses home every day.

what may come as a surprise to most is that he does not truly miss the clinic itself all that much; most of his major work was not done on-site, the place was essentially a glorified negotiating table unless it was an emergency. it's lamentable that it was burned to the ground, of course, after all the investing and personalization he had put into it - but buildings burn down. it's simply what they do, sometimes. the same goes for his often neglected private home, which he saw even less of.

he would live anywhere, work anywhere, if it meant he could do it back in japan. the buildings did not matter. he would feel much differently if he had lived the way kazuhira miller had.

the otherness. not being able to go anywhere in his hometown, in the place he was born and raised, without being stared at like he doesn't belong. crane would find it insufferable. he himself is guilty of adding to that - the first day he'd ever learned that the name kazuhira went to that face, he'd made a backhanded comment about it.

it's a guilt that is settled firmly in his ribs in moments like this - the wind-down from another long day of labor, drinks on the table and the topic of home being tossed back and forth between them. crane has some kind of urge in his gut, a need to… to what? reassure him? apologize? he can't change anything that's happened, or anything that would continue to happen if kaz were ever to go back.

kaz probably never will. and crane won't either.