Chapter Text
Same as it ever was: knives out.
Dejavú. This time it was a stifled whimper of desire, rather than a yelp of pain. From whom, neither knew.
But equally, to neither’s surprise, Spy responded first. With his usual smug smirk and a ruthless glint in his eye, he subtly moved to undo his own belt.
Sniper could have ended it then, killed him on the spot with one finishing swipe of his blade, but when he let the chance pass him by, his eyes drifting to Spy’s gloved hand hovering over the buckle, Spy took that as assent and hesitated no further. He advanced aggressively, spinning Sniper around, crushing him against the crate.
Outside the window it was oddly calm.
The wind swept dust and dry bramble over the desert. The sun was setting.
Sniper made to unbutton his trousers, but Spy knocked his hands away and decisively yanked Sniper’s pants and shorts down to his knees. Spy paused to admire the man’s thighs and bum as he unzipped his own slacks. Despite uneven tan lines and decades-old animal scratches, Sniper’s flesh radiated vitality, vigor. Spy ripped off one glove. He had faint dimples of Apollo, Spy noted as he rubbed a thumb over the soft indentations on Sniper's lower back. He'd never seen them on a man before. Spy spit into his hand.
When Sniper reared his spiteful head and snarled contemptuously for him to hurry up, Spy pushed into him vengefully with all his might, knowing it would hurt them both. Oh, Spy thought as he tipped his head back, May it always be this good.
“Spy,” Sniper managed through gritted teeth. Despite the genuine agony — it had been some time since he’d been so thoroughly and relentlessly taken like this — he bore down desperately against Spy. “Please.”
Spy's pride swelled painfully at the way Sniper’s voice cracked. “Please?” he hissed. He grabbed on fast to Sniper’s bony hips and held him in place, though it was a struggle. He leaned into Sniper’s back, doubling him forward until Sniper’s nose smushed against the splintery wood.
Sniper laid his trap. “I'm beggin' ya: fuck me.” He was breathless from anticipation.
Spy sighed blissfully into Sniper’s ear and ground himself in deep. Sniper pressed himself back against Spy, making resistance, to meet Spy’s movements. He turned his head to get a good look at Spy: he was flushed, as disheveled as Sniper had ever seen him; even dead, Spy was more put together than this. This was new. Sniper let out a hoarse chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” The gravity of Spy’s voice was the same, but his gaze had clouded over with a wanton desire. He pushed in again through the friction, not letting Sniper answer, and they moaned in unison at the sensation, the burning, the throbbing, the pain but it was the good pain, the pain of friction that preceded pleasure. The two of them, together like this, it was all unthinkable and yet somehow inevitable.
Sniper sneered, throwing a challenging glance over his shoulder. “You.”
Unacceptable. Spy flung him back roughly against the crate and stroked deep and long into Sniper to placate the rabid beast. He corrected Sniper’s stance by kicking his ankles out.
He needed to think, but with Sniper grinding back onto him, eliciting from them both a roar as they slammed together again, Spy was frantically wrestling his hold on the situation. He snatched up fistfuls of Sniper’s coarse red shirt to steady himself as he rammed himself harder into Sniper, their flesh slapping together wetly with sweat and spit and --
What was his move here? He needed a plan. Spy needed to have the upper hand, the last laugh. But how?
Sniper was going to be sore, that was for sure, but to know he could get Spy riled like this, to make Spy truly show himself, his real self, that was the reward of the hunt. He alone would know who Spy really was. Sniper would wait in the tall grass for his chance.
It would be a fantastic scheme. Spy pounded into Sniper at a clipped rate, sliding about wildly but always hitting the mark. He was calculating as ever, even as he was intoxicating himself with every thrust. He would conspire for them to fall madly in love with each other. But it would all be deception, fraud, pure make-believe. Spy was a pretender after all. This would be the most brilliant, elaborate mindfuck ever.
At this thought, Spy careened them toward the cliff edge. Sniper tensed beneath him, writhing leathery muscle streaked with sweat, thrashing and bucking like a bull, a stallion, a raging wildebeest.
They were going to sprint right off the brink and free fall. Sniper reached blindly behind him, gripping Spy’s flank and buttocks, guiding the force and quickening the pace, as he growled encouraging expletives between throaty noises of pleasure. They were going to plunge straight down into the ravine, head-first into the scorched earth. So be it.
Yes, the way to make Sniper submit, fully and willingly, was to soak him in so much pleasure that he’d be at Spy's mercy for more. Spy would be the most magnificent lover Sniper ever had. Spy would lay him to waste, discard him in trembling tatters, in utter ruins. Only then would his domination over his rival be complete, absolute. Spy grinned wickedly.
Not yet finished, but pleased to find Sniper crumpled forward into the crate, legs shaky from the glorious fuck he was receiving, Spy pulled his other glove off with his teeth. Hand bare, Spy seized upon Sniper and gave him a few respectful, adoring twirls. It wasn’t going to take much.
Sniper moaned at the squeezing and rubbing, but most of all at how entirely soft Spy's hand was. Sniper didn't care about a thing in the world: he pushed himself into Spy’s palm, its perfect smooth curve, the supple grip of his fingers. Sniper smiled through his heavy breaths; he was drugged from the thrill of knowing they were both chasing his release. Spy wanted him to come. Spy wanted to please him. What a bloody compliment. Coming would be sweet victory.
Sniper could have held on for another few moments, like a grudge, to make Spy earn it, but he didn’t want to. There would be future encounters for that. Now was the time to experience all this as it was, purely and wholly. So Sniper came. He threw his head back with a wolfish cry and collapsed into Spy who braced against him sputtering intermingled love words and curse words in French.
But Spy did not get carried away. Bristling, he withdrew himself and stuck his knife between Sniper’s shoulders, before Sniper could even heave a second satisfied sigh and finish returning to himself. Can’t let the man enjoy too much, lest he forget Spy was in charge. He unceremoniously left Sniper to slump to the floor in a spent pathetic heap, shorts and trousers around his ankles.
As Spy settled his breath and tucked his shirt tails back into his pants, he studied Sniper’s face. Eyes closed, a smudge of soot on his creased cheek, Sniper didn’t look surprised, troubled, or angry. He looked knowing, expectant, even triumphant. Spy would have to execute a more thought out plan next time. He wiped his dripping blade on Sniper’s sleeve before swinging it closed.
As he ambled out of the nest, lightheaded and vaguely euphoric, he reached for his case out of habit. The sunset cast its fading light over cracked leafless trees. Spy decided against the cigarette and slid the case back in his pocket. Before him, all the world was green.