Fic: Icebreaker
Er, hi again. I feel like I should pretend that mod duties have distracted me, but the truth is I'm a forgetful derp (hooray for internet slang!) who can't keep track of posting his own stories. Since it's high time I tried to fix that here, here's a sequel to my S3 submission (though it can stand alone as well). The S3 fic is less indulgently awkward and more polished in terms of fitting in with canon but what the hell, there aren't enough Portable Ops-themed fanworks so here goes: What Happened after Python Joined Big Boss. (Jeez, that's almost as subtle as all the ice puns.) Feedback welcome!
Title: Icebreaker
Pairing: Big Boss/Python
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,900
Summary: Just two old buddies playing catch-up with each other. Interpret as desired.
Notes: I tried to come up with something that worked for explaining Python's suit, but if all canon has to say on the matter is that "it's to cool him off because his body can't regulate its temperature on its own", addressing it in any more detail from there is kind of hard. In the end, I followed the game's example and tried to keep it on just this side of believable.
Mock-Warnings: Consistent abuse of cardboard boxes and Campbell's nervous system; gratuitous silliness in the "bonus" part.
Disclaimer: MGS belongs to Hideo Kojima & Konami.
Icebreaker
01.
“Get out of there.”
Big Boss sighed, grudgingly moving into the other man's field of vision. There was nothing much in the back of the truck tonight - just a few (empty; he had checked) cardboard and other-material boxes in the corner, the makeshift bed on the side, and another box to serve as a table. Python was reclining on the bed, looking unamused.
“I never could sneak up on you,” Snake said, conciliatory.
“Why'd you do that now? I thought we had a truce.”
Snake pulled up another box to sit on. “Suppose it's out of nostalgia.”
He heard Python's low chuckle before the sound even made it out. No, some things never changed.
“What's that?”
Snake grinned a little before setting a stack of cards on what passed for their table, pleased when Python's eyes lit with recognition. “Just thought you might be game. Even if you still owe me from last time.”
Python laughed outright, sitting up straight to watch Snake shuffle the deck. Somehow, it didn't seem polite to point out that money was pretty much a lacking commodity for them now. “Here we are, playing poker in an unfriendly place again.”
“A real ancient tradition,” Snake affirmed, dealing out the cards. He was aware of the way Python followed his movements, alert, though it was most likely an automatism.
Meanwhile, Snake's attention was held by the suit. They'd managed to patch it up after the skirmish at the storage facility, an admirable feat considering their limited resources, as well as the fact that the bulk of the rescue effort had consisted of Snake trying like hell to keep the liquid nitrogen inside. That was two days ago. Python seemed comfortable in it now, so the current consensus was that the operation had worked. Although, as with everything, they would see.
They ended up folding the cards soon after, the game not quite as intriguing with no cash to throw in the mix. Python leaned back, “Where's everyone tonight?”
Snake feigned a shrug. “We don't always huddle together in our little truck, you know.”
In truth, he and his few closest men often did. But Snake had told them he wanted tonight to play catch-up with the old buddy, which they all seemed to have understood well enough to make use of the newly captured amenities around the patrol base. Campbell, of course, hadn't let him off without a hefty dose of sarcasm before taking temporary leave of his beloved truck.
“Hey, I'm not complaining,” Python stretched out on the bed again, visibly careful not to bump his head on anything. Snake wouldn't be able to explain why that awoke such concern in him for the world. “This here, that's downright luxury.”
Snake sat on the edge of the bed himself, holding out one hand above Python's torso, feeling the chill radiating off the suit, sharp and incessant. He waited a while longer, then slowly lowered his hand until it rested on the other's stomach. The look Python was giving him was at once curious and genuinely devoid of surprise of any sort.
“You just haven't had it with the frostbite, have you.”
Snake looked up, “You know me.” He did make a brief retreat after that, but only to plant his hands on either side of Python's body instead and lean down for a kiss, sliding one bent leg between Python's while he was at it.
It was strange, the cold emanating between them in contrast to the heat of Python's mouth, but Snake couldn't say that he disliked it. Even resisting the urge to just pull the other man into his arms, nitrogen suit be damned, the contact was more intense than he'd expected - than even seemed possible with the space between their bodies now. The kiss broke and Python gave a cry that had Snake wondering when he had last been touched without the intent to kill.
Then, suddenly, a hand against Snake's throat - not pressing particularly hard at all. Just enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Snake, quit it. I can't even--”
“What? You sure were enjoying yourself a while ago,” Snake shot back impatiently. “Think I can't handle a little cold?”
For a split-second the glare Python was giving him could have pierced metal. But it was, as soon became abundantly clear, caused by annoyance with Snake's typical rashness much more than any lack of enthusiasm for the proceedings.
“Same stubborn bastard as ever.” The hand relocated from Snake's neck onto his shoulder, inviting now.
“Likewise.” He smiled a little, then slithered down Python's body in blatant mockery of the codenames both of them had been assigned. It wasn't like the suit made an entire body impossible to touch - the bulk of it was wrapped around Python's torso, but the rest seemed manipulable enough. Discovering that was no different from surveillance-based tactics anywhere. Snake executed a light caress over the bulge that there indeed was in Python's crotch, finding the separate zipper easily. He pulled it down with deliberation, rewarded by a hiss as Python's entire body jerked in response.
“Don't bang your head,” was all the warning Snake gave him before getting down to business. All the warning and all the words.
Some things never changed.
02.
“Who needs a bed anyway,” Snake declared fervently to keep Python's spirits up, blowing out a cloud of cigar smoke into the night air. From where he was leaning against the side of the truck, Python chimed in with an unimpressed snort.
“And the exercise is good for you. Nothing like a little jog outside in the middle of the night.”
Snake chuckled - “Exactly!” - but when he looked his companion's way, some of his joviality was pushed aside by concern. “You could've warned me that might happen.”
“You mean you'd listen?” Python's tone betrayed that he knew the answer already.
“Well, maybe - the hell with it,” Snake snuffed out his cigar and leaned forward, but Python beat him to it; then again, the result was the same. It was a good thing neither of them was squeamish about the aftertaste of tobacco and other things, Snake mused detachedly as they kissed. On impulse he almost grabbed the back of Python's head, stopping himself at the last moment. He let the same hand linger on Python's neck, just above the cut of the suit. So useful, and yet so cumbersome.
“You seem alright now,” he murmured an inch or so from Python's lips when they parted.
“Yeah. Just a sudden temperature rise, is all it was.”
Snake had to fake offence at that. “So nothing to write home about?”
“That's where you're wrong,” and Python slapped him affectionately on the back. “Next time I'll have more of this liquid nitrogen going and all shall be well. Whenever that happens,” he added under his breath.
“And till then?”
“Till then, I'll entertain you.” Snake felt the hands tracing down his torso and shivered. “You know, just in case things like FOX and preventing nuclear catastrophe don't manage to keep you busy on their own.”
“You think that's funny--” Snake wanted to go on, but found himself suddenly out of breath. The fact that Python's rubber-encased hand had invaded the inside of his suit and was gripping him firmly underneath the layers might have had something to do with that.
“Not at all, comrade.” Python leaned closer, trapping him against the side of the truck, “Not at all.” The fingers working Snake's length didn't still, only seemed more determined with each subdued gasp their movements ended up provoking.
“H-hey...” Had the situation been any different, Snake would've done a double-take at the need in his voice - undisguised as he stood there, hips tilting to match Python's hand; he hoped more than anything right now not to get shortchanged again. As his ability to keep a clear head continued its flight out the window, Snake wrapped an arm around Python's waist. The cooling effect of the suit felt oddly pleasurable this time - better, at any rate, than the more intimate encounter with its contents he had experienced earlier. He felt Python's hand pick up the pace the slightest bit, making him moan out loud.
The hot breath in his ear was the icing on the cake. “Go on, Snake.”
Python's voice wasn't enhanced with ESP like Gene's, but in that moment it might as well have been: both Snake's body and mind obeyed in unison and he slumped against the other man, shuddering. If any sound had escaped his mouth, he wouldn't recall afterwards if he tried.
03.
“I told him not to dwell on it. I mean, it's not like this is the first guy we've lost--” But Python wasn't listening and brushed straight past Campbell towards where Snake was sitting, yet again according to the tradition of using boxes in place of furniture. Python was surprised Snake hadn't opted to crawl into the box instead, considering how good a job he was doing of blending into the background.
Undeterred, Python stood in front of him and wasted no time evading the subject, “What did I tell you about that and beating Gene?”
“That I'd never beat him if--”
“Yeah?”
“If I can't bear knowing my men's lives are in my hands,” Snake's voice trailed off contemplatively. Sensing his chance, Python crouched down and leaned towards him.
“You're their Boss. You better show them that.”
Snake met his look at last; if that was concession, it had to suffice. And when Python got up again, he followed suit.
[Bonus Track]
“You okay, Python?”
“I told you, get on with it!”
“Fine...you just never let me do this before, is all.”
“Times have changed-- ah, do that again--”
“This?”
“Damn...”
Silence for several moments, marred only by unintelligible grunts and noises divorced from speech altogether.
Then, just silence itself.
“What the--”
“Campbell, now's not the time!”
“Boss, what the hell are you up to-- oh.” Campbell was peering in from the front seats, headphones tucked woefully around his neck instead of over his ears where they should have been, expression entirely devoid of compassion as he took in the scene. “I didn't say it was okay to do this in the truck!”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Python huffed and sprawled forward on the large box he was leaning on, glad his suit made the position more comfortable for once. Behind him, Snake was glaring daggers.
Campbell attempted to glare back, but didn't quite match in fierceness the look Big Boss could blast a person with when he was naked and involuntarily kept back from an engaging activity. It was enough to give Campbell an almost tangible sensation of his own ire shrinking away from his commander, so he just stuttered, “I-I knew you two had something going on, but is this really necessary?”
“Your little welcome-our-new-lady-recruits party last night was?” Python countered.
Roy Campbell was a good at arguing, but that also meant that he could tell when he'd lost. “You know what, have it your way,” and he popped the headphones back into place. “But if someone else happens to come by, I didn't invite them!”
“Sure,” Snake let out a long-suffering sigh.
Python chuckled. “Seems like we'll have to work quickly, Boss.”
It turned out to be their easiest co-op mission of all time.