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Mirage wasn't sure when he'd started to notice the members of his squad- not just as temporary people that come and go from his life, but as real, breathing people that he had genuine human connections with. When he first began in the games, he made a conscious effort to not remember people- no names, no faces, no attachment.
Today, however, was different. He'd found himself in the ring with two of the people he had gotten closest to in his time in the arena, posing and posturing for the crowd with the two he held closest- as close as he lets anyone get, at least. They spent the afternoon and hours of waning sunlight running together, guns strapped to their hips and supplies heavy on their back as they looted their way through Kings' Canyon, shooting down any squad that stands in their way. Even when their reign comes to an end they take the loss with pride and good sportsmanship, more than happy with their performance for the day as they lay upon the ground, bodies grimy with sweat, dirt and blood.
An hour later the team sits together in the medic bay, hooked up to machines and laughing together about their domination of the arena as their bodies knit themselves back together. It doesn't take long for them to be given the all clear and Mirage gives his fellow squadmates hearty hugs before heading off in the direction of the cafeteria, aching for a good, hearty meal.
Only after a much needed feed does Mirage find himself wandering in the direction of the locker room, eager to clean himself up after a days' hard work. The rest of the main contenders had left hours ago, patched up and exhausted from their day, eager to slip back out of the public eye for another few weeks.
He strips his gear off onto one of the lockers, not bothering to shut the door before making for the safety of the showers. He stops in his tracks, however, when he sees another locker door left open, a lone shirt tossed on the lower shelf, obviously forgotten.
Mirage hates that he recognises the shirt immediately. It belongs to no other than Makoa Gibraltar- once a stranger but now a valued squadmate; a valued friend- one of the few people Mirage knew that he could turn to, both in the arena and out. One of the few people he could trust.
He grabs the shirt with the intention of returning it- honestly, he does-, but finds himself turning the fabric over in his hands, wet in parts with cooled sweat but otherwise a soft, light cotton. His eyes linger on the name printed neatly on the neckline and of course he labels his shirts, the intimacy of such knowledge bringing a soft smile to his face.
Mirage has always preferred to live life like this- out of the limelight, alone and free to express himself- however, life has other plans for him it seems. He holds the shirt against his chest briefly and inhales, the scent of the other man comforting, his frayed nerves soothing instantly, but Mirage can't deny the faint stirring in his gut that it brings. He takes a brief assessment of his surroundings- empty room, sun setting in the windows- before bringing the shirt to his face, taking a deeper, more deliberate inhale.
Mirage would be lying to himself if he denied the fact that Gibraltar was unfairly attractive. When they met, he didn't look twice at the other man- just another person that would come into his life, just another person that would leave once they got what they wanted. As time passed, though, Mirage found himself growing closer to the other man, something akin to friendship blooming between the two of them.
The two often found themselves at the local bar in the wee hours of the morning, the last two in the establishment as they laughed and shared stories together, Gibraltars' seemingly endless patience soothing the frayed edges of Mirages' psyche. They shared a kiss there, one lonely night at 3am when they both were too many drinks in and exhausted from a long day of combat training. That kiss was never mentioned, but ever since, Mirage had been watching the other with a keener eye- watching the way he moved, the way he showed the barest stripe of skin when he stretched, the way his smile lights up his features so beautifully.
It's these mental images that has Mirage standing stark naked in the locker room, clutching his squadmates' shirt to his chest like his life depends on it, heart aching in his chest and cock half hard in interest. He takes one last check around the room, just to be sure, before he heads for the shower cubicles, ensuring the door was firmly shut behind him.
Mirage uses his free hand to turn the shower on, not bothering to fiddle with temperatures- not yet, anyway. He slumps bonelessly against the wall, and in that moment decides to give in, a hand slowly snaking its way down his body, lingering on his curves and definitions of muscle. He takes an unreserved smell of the shirt now- a deep, proper sniff, and the scent shoots through him like a drug, lighting up his veins as it travels through his body. He exhales shakily as his hand finds his cock, more than interested in the thick, sweaty scent of the other man.
Mirage lets his eyes slip shut, imagination taking over as he palms himself- gently, at first, still anxious of his surroundings as he dips into his fantasies. Images of the other man dance across his mind- the way Gibraltar throws him easy smiles as they run together in the ring, how his skin glistens with the thin sheen of sweat Mirage has come to associate with a victory well deserved. It takes mere strokes for Mirage to work himself to full hardness, the mix of adrenaline and arousal flooding his system only drawing him deeper into his fantasies. In that moment he surrenders himself to the pleasure, moaning freely into the steamy air.
Images dance across his mind- how Gibraltar would look undressed, how his cock would feel in his hand, in his mouth, inside of him. He knows how the other man groans in pain and he twists those sounds to ones of pleasure, the noise echoing through his head as he thrusts his hips, cock leaking in his grasp. Elliott can hear his own contrasting noises bouncing off the walls but tunes them out, instead refocusing on his fantasies- on how thick and heavy Gibraltar would be in his mouth, leaking precome as he tangles his hands in his hair.
That thought alone is enough to make Elliotts' balls tighten, eyes fluttering open just a crack as he passes the point of no return, only to find himself eye to eye with the man of his fantasies- the one and only Makoa Gibraltar.
Adrenaline runs through Gibraltars' veins, Peacekeeper tucked faithfully by his side. He’s crouched with his squadmates atop a roof in Artillery, waiting. They’d tasked him with guarding the Artillery Tunnel, a cleverly placed zipline acting as perfect bait for the last remaining squad. To his back was Mirage, and to his Octane, excitedly chittering as he aimed down the scope of his G7, finger twitching against the trigger.
He spies a hint of movement, a shadow flickering on the breeze and immediately his team is by his side, scoped in and laying down fire upon the enemy squad as they dart through the shadows, seemingly untouchable. A sniper shot whistles past his ears and Gibraltar aims down his sights, focusing on the shadows for a moment before letting loose a shot from his longbow, the pained shout of an enemy bringing a round of cheers from his squadmates.
"On my signal," he says, and despite the silence he knows the other two are with him, keyed up and ready for a fight. As soon as he sees Lifeline by her teammates' side he jumps for the zipline, Peacekeeper at the ready and eyes on the prize.
Gibraltar is all smiles and warmth, even after such a dominating show in the arena, and such a well fought loss. Despite being hooked up to various pieces of nanotech after the game he goes out of his way to congratulate the victors, giving them warm smiles and hearty handshakes, the pain shooting up his side with every motion no deterrent to good camaraderie. The medic monitoring his machines ushers him back to his cot and he gives the winning squad a final wave before heading back to his team- beaten, bloody and bruised, but content.
Octane is the first released, followed by Mirage- their wounds weren't as severe, merely downed whilst still in combat. Gibraltar had copped the brunt of the bullets, shotgun shells sprayed into his side and shoulder, wounds knitting together slowly as the high tech meds course through his system.
Octane gives them both hearty hugs before bouncing off into the distance, already full of beans and itching for another fight. Mirage lingers a little longer, sitting by Gibraltars' cot for a while, wanting to make sure he was healed up before he too headed off, murmuring something to himself about a late dinner.
By the time Gibraltar is released from the medic bay night has begun to descend across the skyline, setting sun peeking through soft clouds, bathing the corridors in an almost ethereal orange glow. He starts towards the exit before remembering his undershirt, discarded in his locker prior to the game after a brief warm up in the gym. There was no need for extra layers in the ring- not with energy armour fitting snug against his chest, keeping in the most of his warmth.
As he approaches the locker room he realises he's not as alone as once thought- the sound of a running shower seeps into his awareness, the soft hiss a constant background noise, almost soothing in a way. It disguises the sound of his heavy footsteps as he heads for the lockers, and even before reaching his destination he can tell that his shirt has vanished, muttering a soft curse under his breath. Gibraltar knows that it was labelled- it will return to him one way or another, but the combination of both a long day in the ring and an early onset of post-game exhaustion has his temper short and patience worn thin.
He turns on his heels, more than ready to leave but he finds his steps stopping short of the only occupied shower bay when he hears a soft noise carried on the steamy air- a soft, shaky exhale, the breath tapering off into a soft but recognisable moan.
Gibraltar considers himself to be a decent man- one of standards, one that respects others' privacy when it was obviously so very sorely needed. Despite his strong moral conscience, he finds it within himself to stay put- after all, he has to ensure the noise was not of pain, as though the way his heart had skipped a beat hadn't answered that question for him the moment it hit his ears. He leans back against the stall wall, slowing his breathing despite the rush of the shower and listens intently for something- anything at all to confirm his suspicions. A few moments pass of silence and- oh, there it is again a quiet whine this time that shoots heat straight to Gibraltars' cock.
Makoa was no stranger to the noises that Mirage often made- both inside and out of the ring. The man was expressive and wordy, always with a snide remark or something to say, mouth often opening before his brain had so much as processed what was going to come out of it. Even when words weren't flowing past his lips he would still communicate- nod or tilt his head during conversation, small inquisitive noises or murmurs of agreeance commonplace for Mirage.
These traits, however, gave Makoa no issues in recognising exactly who these moans and soft gasps belonged to, just the thought of his teammate engaging in such activities on the other side of the thin walls making his half hard cock give an interested twitch.
He takes a step back from the situation for a moment despite the protest of his body, considering his next move. He would have to be blind to not find Mirage- no, Elliott- attractive. The man was gorgeous, all charisma and charm, but Makoa knew what hid beneath that façade, too. He knew about the anxiety and insecurities, about how Elliott looked sprawled across a bar at 2am with a few too many drinks on board, tears of laughter running down his face as his chest heaved for air at his own corny jokes.
In that moment, Makoa Gibraltar made his decision.
When Makoa opens the door to the shower stall, he knows exactly what to expect. What greets him, however, is a whole other treat entirely.
Elliott Witt- the one and only, world-famous- is leant back against the wall, body taught and tight with his impending release, hand fisted around his cock as he strokes himself feverishly. Deep, hungry brown eyes follow the line of Elliotts’ body- skin slicked with sweat, hair falling in his face, and- is that his shirt?
Makoa is snapped out of his trance when the man before him cries out softly, hips jerking into his touch and time stands still as he opens his eyes, not initially registering the presence of the other man but by the time he does it's too late, cock throbbing in his hand as he shoots rope after rope of cum, the jolts of pleasure shooting through his body echoing beautifully upon his face.
Makoa stands there in the doorway for a moment, speechless as Elliott catches his breath after an obviously much needed orgasm, slumped against the wall as he struggles for breath.
"I- I can explain-" Elliott starts, and oh his cheeks look gorgeous that red.
"No need." The door clicks softly shut as Makoa takes a step into the stall- cautious but eager, heat running through his veins at the sight of the man so beautifully dishevelled before him.
"I was looking for that," he chuckles softly as he nods at the undershirt still clasped in Elliotts’ grasp, and he stammers a moment before opening his mouth to speak, Makoa gently shooshing him with a single finger against his lips.
"B-But, this is so weird, I was using your shirt for fucks sake-" Elliott finds his mouth muffled by lips and it takes him a moment to stop trying to speak against them before he can truly appreciate the sensation, so warm and thick against his own, willingly submitting to the other man.
"You like how I smell, huh?" Makoa pulls back from the kiss lets his eyes search Elliotts’ face, the other man whining softly in thinly veiled embarrassment. He laughs- deep and hearty, before leaning in against the tricksters' ear, breath ghosting over the shell.
"The real thing’s right here. Come and get some." Makoa runs a teasing tongue along the ear before taking a step back, relishing in the soft, pitiful noise Elliott makes at the loss of contact.
He takes a moment to shrug out his shoulders, and before he knows it Elliott has his hands looped around his neck, fingers twisting in his hair as their tongues and teeth clash, the kiss messy and needy but fuck it feels right. Elliotts’ hands roam his body, slipping beneath his shirt and mapping out his skin, the other finding itself on Makoas’ waist. By the time they break the kiss the two are panting for air, Elliott tugging incessantly at the clothes clinging to Makoas’ frame, damp from the spray of the shower and a thin layer of sweat.
On any other day, Makoa may make a show of it- try to tease the other man a little, but it’s all he can do to get his clothes off before leaning back into Elliott, all teeth and tongue as he kisses and nips down his neck, collar bone, chest. He works his way down, licking a stripe up a muscular thigh before his mouth finds his friends' steadily hardening cock, flicking his tongue teasingly against the head before taking him in entirely, tight lips causing Elliott to cry out softly above him.
"Fuck, look at you," the man practically purrs, watching through lidded eyes as Makoa works him over with soft, plush lips and a dexterous tongue, saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"So gorgeous," he hums, one hand carding through Makoas’ long locks as the other holds his head steady, shallowly fucking into him, swearing under his breath. Makoa feels his cheeks heat at the compliment and moans around his mouthful, relaxing his throat as Mirage starts thrusting deeper, his own cock aching between his legs.
Makoa finds himself palming his cock with a stray hand, the other on Elliotts’ hips holding him steady as he fucks into his face, picking up the pace and he can tell his companion is getting close- the way his breathing is starting to labour and his hips stutter every few thrusts.
"Fuck, Gibraltar," he pants, pulling the other mans' head into a particularly rough thrust and Makoa pull away with tears stinging in the corner of his eyes, spluttering for a few moments before he inhales shakily, a stray tear streaking down his cheeks.
"Oh, oh fuck, I'm so sorry." Immediately Elliott is down on his knees beside his friend, a comforting hand on his shoulder rubbing soft circles into his skin, concern written across his flushed, sweaty face. Makoa takes a few more shaky inhales before chuckling softly, swollen lips splitting into a smile.
"I'm fine, it's okay." Elliott sighs in relief and wraps his arm around Makoas’ shoulders, and he can't help but to lean into the touch- after all, physical affection is hard to come by in this line of work. The two end up on the damp floor together, wrapped up in one-anothers' arms till Makoa fully catches his breath and Elliotts’ frayed nerves calm some.
Elliott looks up from where his head rests against Makoas’ shoulder, one arm around his shoulders, the other wrapped protectively around his waist. The spray of the shower has dampened his hair but in that moment it doesn’t matter, soggy locks the least of his concerns.
"You sure you're okay?" His voice is laced with concern and it tugs at Makoas’ heart, makes it ache for affection, for emotional connection. He stomps down those feelings- not here, not now. Maybe some other time, slumped over the bar with one too many drinks in his system, when the filter between heart and brain turns off at just the right moment.
"Of course," he smiles softly down at Elliott, gently rubs a hand down his slick back. The other man shivers and his soft smile shifts to a more sinister smirk, running teasingly light touches along Elliotts’ skin, the other man becoming putty under his touch. It only takes a few passes over his most sensitive of areas before Elliott is pushing away from his companion, clearly still keyed up from their earlier misadventures.
"So, uh, are we still doing this?" He clears his throat awkwardly, not making eye contact with Makoa- not yet, anyway.
"I-I mean. I want to, you know. Do it still. If you're fine with it, obviously."
Makoa smiles up at him, waiting patiently for his turn in conversation.
"I'd love to."
"So, uh, how do we want to do this?" Elliott and Makoa have found themselves back towards the locker bay, sprawled out together on the worn benches. Elliott is sat atop Makoas’ hips, shuddering softly as the other man grinds up against him, their cocks rubbing together deliciously.
"I'm versatile," Makoa starts, noting the way Elliotts’ eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at the admission- "whatever makes you comfortable, brother." The other man shudders atop him before scooting down his hips, gazing up at the other man.
"Elliott," he starts, shifting to get comfortable between his companions' legs, head resting against a muscled thigh as he gazes up at him, "I- it's my name. Elliot."
"Nice to meet you, Elliott," he smiles- all warm and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners-, "I'm Makoa."
"Makoa," he tests, rolling the name on his tongue and he hears the other man let out a shaky exhale, bringing a smile to Elliott's features. "Think I could get used to that name."
Makoa blushes, tilting his head a little to break the gaze between himself and Elliott, moving back on the bench. He spreads his legs further, the other man tucking his head between them, his breath ghosting over Makoas' hole.
"Is this okay?"
"Y-Yeah." His voice is soft and breathy, almost vulnerable and Elliott bites back a response- not here, not now-, instead opting to busy his mouth with the soft pucker of the other mans' ass. His lips and tongue tease his skin, lapping up his sweat before slowly thrusting his tongue into his tightness, Makoa’ fingers tangling in his curly locks as he slowly works his way inside of him.
A soft murmur of Elliotts' name spurs him on as the man spread before him tilts his head back, legs finding purchase around slender shoulders. He pushes his tongue in past the initial pucker of Makoas’ hole, flexing the muscle gently as he presses his lips against warm skin, nose nestled against the crack of his ass.
Elliott opens his mouth further, gently probing his tongue deeper and the sheer heat clenching around him. Makoas’ thighs shake around his head and it’s spinning, cock twitching in renewed interest, already recovering from his previous spill.
"Elliott," the name is sighed out again and he pulls his tongue out, thrusts it back in and Makoa moans above him- a soft noise, but present nonetheless. It further spurs him on, setting a rhythm with his tongue as he mouths against Makoas’ ass, spit drooling down his chin as he works. He feels Makoa shift and a thick hand wraps around his cock, tugging in time with Elliotts’ tongue. He takes a moment to shift between Makoas’ legs, nuzzling his face between thick cheeks, mouth getting back to work with renewed vigour.
It takes only a few minutes before Makoa is panting beneath Elliott, groaning needily as he thrusts back against Elliotts' mouth, trying to ride his tongue as it fucks into him, cock dripping with need for release.
"Elliott, please," he begs, free hand still tangled in the other mans' hair, grasping for purchase. "I need you."
He pulls away from Makoas’ ass, eyes hungry as he looks over the other man, drinking in the gorgeous mess before him. His skin was slick and shiny with a sheen of sweat, his chest heaving with pleasure, cock weeping in his thick hand.
"God, you're gorgeous," he purrs, breath leaving him in a shaky exhale as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. "I-" Elliott glances towards Makoas’ dick, fixated for a moment on its sheer girth.
"I don't know that I can-" he pauses, "I mean, I want to- I just-"
Makoa chuckles lowly, shifting his hips.
"Fuck me, Elliott." He smiles up at him, and Elliott stammers but shrugs a little, stroking himself a few times- more for show, his cock already fully hard, leaking precome against his fingers.
"I, uh- hang on." Elliott pulls away from Makoa and the other man props himself up, curious as to Elliotts' whereabouts. He goes to his locker and fumbles around a moment before making a small 'ah-hah!' noise, returning with a sachet of lube in his mouth, hands already on Makoas’ thickly set thighs.
"Like this okay?" He asks, leaning in to kiss the surprisingly soft skin, tearing open the sachet and warming lube between his fingers.
"Fine by me." Makoa and Elliott exchange looks, both smiling softly at the other as one finger enters Makoa, then a second- there was no time to be wasted, and by the time Makoa opened his mouth to protest Elliott was sliding his fingers out, slicking his cock up and lining up with his hole.
"You, uh- You ready?" He grinds his cock against Makoas’ hole, the other mans' breath catching.
"Please," the other man whines softly, shifting towards Elliott and he pushes in slowly, the two of them groaning in tandem- at the feeling, at the closeness, at the warmth.
"Oh fuck," Elliott breathes, sinking in to the hilt and he stays there a moment, his arms shaking beside Makoas’ head, eyes shut as he works to regain his composure. Makoa isn't faring much better, head leant back and eyes closed in bliss, legs wrapping easily around the lean frame of Elliotts' body.
When he doesn't move a moment Makoa cracks his eyes open, breath catching in his chest at the sheer beauty of the man above him. The two lock eyes and Elliott gives a soft smile as he pulls out slowly, taking his time with the other man til he relaxes fully beneath him, long arms roping around his neck. The pace stays slow for a while, Elliott leaning in to litter Makoas' skin with soft kisses and playful nips til he starts moving his hips of his own accord, fucking himself back against Elliotts' cock.
He surrenders to the feeling, burying his face into the crook of the larger mans' neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh- obviously effective by the way his hips stutter and his breath comes out in shaky groans of pleasure.
"Hang on," he breathes out, and Elliott recoils like he’s been shot, barely stopping himself from pulling out of the other man.
"Fuck, I- are you okay?" The concern on his face has Makoas' heart melting and he leans up, presses a chase kiss to Elliotts' lips, smiling at the other man.
"Never been better. I just- let me try something." Elliotts' eyes scan his face but upon seeing no discomfort he nods, letting the other man clamber up, gently pushing him down onto the bench. Elliott is confused but the second Makoa climbs onto the bench over him his dick gives an excited twitch, the hulking figure of the one and only Makoa Gibraltar absolutely dwarfing his lean, muscular frame sprawled out beneath him.
"This is- wow- this is certainly something-" Makoa chuckles, cuts him off with a gentle kiss as he positions himself over Elliott, grinding a moment against his cock before he sinks down, and oh his expression is gorgeous. He can't help but to gape at Makoas’ expression as he pants, his own breath caught in his chest and he starts to move , so fluid and steady despite the sheer size of his form and Elliott can't tear his eyes away for a second , wanting to take in everything he can even with the blood rushing downwards, his hips bucking up involuntarily into the stimulation he's barely registering.
"Fuck, Makoa," he moans, snapped out of his daze by soft lips against his own, his mouth opening almost of its own accord as he rocks his hips up into the warm tightness surrounding him. The kiss encompasses Elliotts' senses and the two of them moan against one anothers' skin, Makoa bouncing beautifully on his cock, eyes closed and head tossed back in pleasure. He gets lost admiring the man before him- hair coming loose from its tie and cascading down his hair and back, sweat dripping tantalisingly down his chest, pooling against Elliotts' skin.
A particularly angled thrust has Makoa groaning low in his throat, teeth digging into his lower lip as he holds himself back, cock bobbing between the two of them heavily with every movement of his hips. Just the sight alone has Elliott stuttering out a brief warning before he comes, head hitting the bench with a thump as he throws it back, burying himself to the hilt in Makoas' ass and holding his hips down as he fills him, cock twitching deep inside him. Makoa cries out as Elliott buries himself deep and clenches around his cock, groaning low as he spills between the two of them, cum splattering over Elliotts' chest.
He barely catches himself as he collapses down atop Elliott, bracing himself on his forearms to stop from crushing the smaller man as his chest heaves with the intensity of his orgasm, Elliott not much better off himself. They take a few moments to catch their breath before Makoas’ laugh breaks the moment, Elliott looking down to find large, deep eyes staring up at him.
"Think I shot you," Makoa chuckles, gently sweeping a finger across his lower lip and oh, that stray droplet of cum on his finger looks so enticing. Elliott locks eyes with the other man and sweeps his tongue over it, moaning softly in appreciation as the flavour hits his tongue, sucking the finger into his mouth briefly before pulling off with a lewd pop.
"At least take me out to dinner first," Elliott chuckles, licking his lips. He catches the way Makoas’ gaze drops and catches the motion, the way he licks his lips in turn. "So, uh- D- Do you want to? I mean- take me out. To dinner, some time."
It's Makoas’ turn to chuckle, the man so frequently oozing confidence such a flustered mess beneath him, cheeks lit up in a deep blush.
"I'd love nothing more."