/afanfic/'s been pretty dead lately, and the last update on this thread was months ago, so I thought I'd give it a shot. If there's anything wrong with this fic, it's because this is the first I've ever posted and I'm still a bit inexperienced. Concrit is highly encouraged and much appreciated. --------------- It was a long way up the ladder, the sweltering heat doing nothing to to help, but you eventually found yourself at the entrance to the nest. Quickly fixing yourself as much as you could while holding on to a ladder a long way from the ground, you knocked twice on the hatch above you and pushed it open. "Hey, Sniper. I'm gonna stay here a while, if that's okay with you," you said, climbing through the opening and shutting it behind you. Sniper sat on a cot that had been pushed haphazardly to one side, polishing his rifle. He glanced at you through his shades and nodded, putting down the gun and taking a sip of decaf from his red #1 Sniper mug. The nest was generally an uninteresting place: creaky floorboards that announced every step you took, unopened crates of ammunition scattered about, square windows propped open by makeshift planks of wood. It wasn't the best hangout, but you liked it there nonetheless. The nest was peaceful, a stark contrast to the stiff, mechanical gray of the base plagued by your insane teammates. It provided not only a sanctuary from the madness you called work, but also some time to think. You sat on a crate marked fragile and attempted to read the book you brought along. It was impossible to concentrate, and before long your mind started wandering back to the reason you had started hanging out in the nest in the first place. Sniper. Sniper was a good teammate and a better friend, but there was more to it than just that. One smirk from him had the ability to reduce you, a tough, battle-hardened mercenary, to a shy schoolgirl with a crush, an embarrassing condition which you repeatedly denied to yourself and hid from everyone else. Still, it was true; you wanted him, perhaps even loved him, but you were professionals, and any romantic attachment would be a distraction from your team's main objectives. Besides, you knew he'd never see you that way, and while keeping your distance was a butterfly knife through the heart, rejection would have been a rocket launcher to the face. By now your book lay forgotten on your lap as you absentmindedly watched Sniper clean his rifle, admiring the smooth movement of deft hands stroking the barrel in a vaguely suggestive manner, one you often encountered in your deepest fantasies. You noticed his fingers trembled slightly, and he looked uncomfortable, even nervous. "What're you thinkin' of, mate?" His sudden question jerked you back to the present, and you winced inwardly at the realization that he'd caught you staring. Your face burned, but you met him with what you hoped was a blank expression. "Nothing. I was just watching you clean your gun," you said, telling half the truth. He was silent, like he was contemplating something important, and you wondered whether he even heard you or not. You were exposed under Sniper's distracted gaze, and a few seconds trickled to an eternity. He sighed. "I need to tell you something," he said. Your heart beat in your chest like gunfire at a stalemate; fast, loud, and apprehensive. "Um, d'you, uh, I just-" he stuttered, and buried his face in his hands. "Bloody hell." "Sniper? Is there something wrong?" you asked, the worry evident in your voice. Sniper looked up at you, considered something momentarily, then walked toward you, his his decision made. He took you by the hands, gently pulled you to your feet, and kissed you before he could change his mind. The gunfire turned into a series of missiles going off one after the other, massive explosions of blinding color and confusion. You felt his arms wrapped around your waist; heard his intensified breathing; smelled his familiar scent of masculine fragrance, gunpowder, and coffee. The whole situation was unbelievable, but it was real. You were kissing Sniper. You were kissing Sniper. Holy shit. "I didn't know how to tell you," he admitted, pulling away from you to catch his breath, "You know I'm not too good with other people. But I know I need to be with you because if I have to go through another day with you just sittin' there and torturin' me, I'd go mad." You sighed sympathetically and pressed tender kisses up the side of his neck, trying to rid him of his shirt. "I want you, Sniper. Please." You led him to the cot, and Sniper was on top of you in a second, sucking and licking every exposed bit of flesh. You undressed quickly and left your clothes strewn on the dusty wooden floor. You knew he didn't get to do this often with the clumsy way he touched you, but he tried his best as he traced the contours of your body; fondling your breasts; exploring the soft, scarred expanse of your back; lovingly stroking the wetness between your legs. He pushed a finger inside you, then two, and a rough moan escaped your lips when he hit just the right spot. You bucked your hips against his hand uncontrollably, and he withdrew his fingers just a few glorious strokes from climax. Sniper pulled out a condom from one of the many pockets in his discarded vest, rolled it on, and positioned himself at your entrance. You exhaled sharply when he filled you, and muffled your moans on his neck with each thrust. His fingers found your clitoris, and you squirmed under his overwhelming touch. "I love you. Fuckin' 'ell, I love you," he whispered in your ear, the patient, rhythmic rolling of his hips growing slowly more erratic. At that moment, nothing mattered in the world; not your batshit crazy teammates, not the behemoths of corruption known as RED and BLU, not this futile war you fought in the middle of nowhere. There was only you and Sniper, and that's all that was important to you. You came first, toes curling and hands grasping his shoulders tightly. Sniper fucked you through it, drawing out your orgasm as long as possible. A few more frantic thrusts, and he was spending his seed inside you. You were silent as he lay on top of you exhaustedly, his ragged heartbeat resonating through your skin. After you both calmed down, Sniper pulled out of you awkwardly and rolled off the condom, disposing of it in a small metal bin by the cot. His tiredness was obvious, and he gave you a chaste kiss before finally succumbing to sleep. You covered him with his blanket and watched the relaxed rise and fall of his chest for a moment before getting up to dress yourself. You gathered his clothes from all over the floor and left them neatly folded on a crate, his shades and akubra arranged on top of them. Forgotten book now in hand, you lingered through the hatch and surveyed the nest. It was a different place to you now, yet it was the same. The floorboards still creaked, the crates were still scattered, and the windows still let in the dry desert wind; but you knew better than to believe it really was an uninteresting place. After all, there lay Sniper on his cot, naked under the sheets and satisfied. You climbed down the ladder and shut the hatch quietly behind you.