Fanfic: Mile High S&M Club Chapter 3: Release
Copy/pasted from Army_of_two community.
Title: Mile High S&M Club
Chapter 3/3
Pairing/Characters: Clyde/Salem, Rios
Warning: The plane’s end is approaching and so is the story’s. Hard R.
“I do.” Simple words, sharp and defiant. Salem expected a swift blow to the base of his skull, a punch to a kidney, a jab of pain to shut him up. He should have known better. Instead Clyde wrapped one arm around his chest as the other kept steady with the barrel of the gun pressed firmly under his chin. Elliot wished that the awkward dry humping was the worst of it.
It was the mouth spread wide against the back of his neck, the slashed cheeks bleeding anew mixing with spit as Clyde licked him. Fucking licked him. It felt like a snake, jaw unhinged, teeth tight against his skin. He never thought he’d be glad that the asshole took care of his teeth, kept them straight and blunt.
Clyde’s arm tightened, the gun tilted Salem’s face back. “How’d you manage to be so stupid and stay alive in this business?” A slick tongue lapped his skin, wiping the blood away. “C’mon, don’t want to keep Rios waiting. You got some last goodbyes to get through.”
Face tight, yet impassive, Salem took a quick inventory. He still had his pistol, strapped on and safety locked; no good to him now. Keep a cool head. Wait for it. Clyde urged him forward; the hand at his shoulder stiff, the lone thumb stroking his neck. Bastard liked to touch too much.
As they left the cockpit, the pilot’s bloodied corpse swayed with the plane, hand settled on the radio, which chirped to life in green lights “Unidentified aircraft, change course…”
Crate upon crate of illegal weapons kept spaces narrow, the line of sight short. Salem shuffled ahead, throat tight. He could shout now, Rios would hear it, be armed and ready; and Salem would be dead. No matter how much leeway Clyde gave to keep him alive long enough to get his rocks off, he’d never risk his life for a fuck..
They’d reached the middle of the plane, table and chairs strapped in for a bit of comfort. At the sight of Tyse’s resting form, Salem felt a slab of concrete settle at the bottom of his stomach. “Too fucking easy.” Clyde murmured favorably.
A rumble flowed through the panes of tempered glass and the sheets of metal that made up the body of the plane. Tyse’s eyes glanced out into the grey skies and witnessed a sleek fighter jet slip around the larger craft. “Yo, Elliot, check this out…” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elliot’s figure stiff, quiet…wrong.
It took less than a heartbeat to access the situation. He knew it was Clyde without seeing the man’s face, without hearing his sneering voice. It was the taut redness around Salem’s eyes, a hell of a tell that only came out when he was angry at himself, when he was overwhelmed, when he got pinned down and was kept there. It was the angry brow, dipped low and hard, that made it personal and less than a handful of people in this field ever got in close enough to make it personal. The tendons in his neck stood out, out of pain? It’s fucking Clyde, of course Elliot’s in pain.
The fury contorted his face; every muscle in his body tensed, ready to act.
“Hands over your head”. Amused, playful. Clyde leaned sideways from behind Salem, his face pale. A moment later the bloody mess that was his mouth grinned while his gun played in the hostage’s hair.
Rios stood blocking the way, hands fisted, shoulders squared. It was an exercise in patience, in concentration, waiting for the right split second to strike. “You know, you two really piss me off.” The gun slid out of place. Instead of a kill shot, it would maim Salem, tearing a chunk out of his head. He’d die of it, surely. Yet, it’ll be slow, painful and ugly. Warning received. Rios stood his ground, his posture altered slightly, indistinguishable to the untrained eye, but a quick flicker between Salem and Rios told Clyde all he needed to know. They were going to play ball. “I swear to God, if Dalton didn't have such a hard-on for the both of you, I'd have killed you a long time ago-”
An explosion to their left, sudden, powerful. Distracting. Salem slammed against a crate, a moment’s reprieve from the gun digging into his head. He gritted his teeth, lips snarled and thrust his elbow back hard. It connected with Clyde’s tattered cheek, for a sickening instant splitting it apart. The blow struck just right, unbalancing the madman. Clyde hadn’t even collided against the cabin’s floor as Rios and Salem scrambled to the back of the plane where their gear was fortunately stored.
At some point before reaching Rios, Clyde had taken the silencer off. He had wanted to hear the sharp crack of gunfire as he killed the larger man, had wanted Salem to hear it. So that the tattooed tin soldier could relive it vividly for as long as Clyde kept him alive. Now the shots rang out as he slid on the floor, still aiming only at Rios. He could subdue little Elliot by himself, no problem. Just take papa Bear out of the picture.
He pulled out a submachine gun and aimed high over Salem, cables and pipes ripe offerings for an explosion to flush him out. It didn’t work like he wanted, instead Salem peeked out, pistol in hand, wasting a clip into nothing since Clyde had taken his own cover. He’d have to try harder to get Salem out of there. He’d shoot the man, no problem-o fuck-o, just a knee cap, a nice flesh wound, something to knock him down, but not lethal. He could have pulled a lethal shot from second one, Salem had shitty aim when he tried. He couldn’t blind fire for shit, so up comes his head, a nice target with no mask.
A lull settled momentarily and Clyde saw the large gun tossed from one side to another. He reached into the crate at his side and pulled out a larger gun, a machine gun, ammo nestled snuggly right next to it. He raised it, its weight heavy, too much for his arms alone. He slid around the corner, listening, he could hear straps snapping at a blade’s edge, a shot gun being reloaded, a good time to strike.
His shots rang out ignored. The pair continued to suit up, to cut loose something. Fuckin’ A! The hovercraft, the one with a parachute attached for quick deployment. They were going to run. No, not today. Not getting away till he had his fill. Clyde unhooked a grenade and lobbed it to the back. Fully suited, wearing the masks, Salem and Rios would survive, but that inflated go-cart would pop.
A clatter demanded their attention. “He didn’t just…” Rios slammed his body back incredulously. For whatever reason those fighter planes were shooting this plane down, it was nowhere near as crazy as throwing a live grenade while inside it.
“Shit!” Salem huddled against a corner, gun raised impotently. If he could think straight he might have thought to lower his mask, his instincts and adrenaline confused and fraying at the ends.
Another large explosion thundered around them as the plane tilted on its axis and dipped forward. The round grenade rolled back, then forward picking up speed, heading straight towards Clyde. “What an idiot.” Rios beamed at Elliot, his grin quickly fading.
His partner’s body still pressed tight into the corner, eyes pressed shut. He leaned in, hand warm and firm on Elliot’s face. Salem’s eyes shot open, met Tyse’s and calmed down immediately. An unspoken question passed between them. A quick nod and a few words answer enough. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tyson raced to the bay doors, all shoot up, the controller sparking and aflame. He pried one lock open, the second one bent and stuck in its place. He raised his large boot and slammed it down. “Open, dammit, open!”
Elliot prepped the vehicle, checked it for damage, made sure the chute wasn’t tattered holes. As he leaned into the driver’s seat, a figure stood out black amongst the sparks. Clyde, with a bazooka. Salem could punch and kiss Cha-Min Soo’s ugly mug. Sure the vehicles and manpower were an added bonus from their friendship, but the man was always running his weapons, ammo included as a gift as was his family tradition and business practice.
A bead of sweat ran down the dip of Salem’s spine. The smoke and chaos couldn’t hide the glee on Clyde’s face, the icy blue eyes alight in whatever a psychopath considers fun, the mouth a red mess full of teeth. A wide grin and Salem knew exactly what Clyde planned as the bazooka leveraged higher. To kill them both, he’d only have to aim low, get the hovercraft and take them with it, but higher, a big bullseye on Tyse’s back. Fucker still planned on keeping Salem around.
In a blink the missile blasted towards Tyse, still kicking the door, no idea of what’s happening. Salem shocked into silence, his body betraying his mind as he wanted to move quickly and warn Tyse, move him, get him down and safe.
A fiery explosion, loud and mean surged behind Salem “Whoa.” Tyse was alive, surprised but alive. A breath he didn’t know he was holding rushed out of Salem’s lungs. He looked back. Sky surged behind them, no more worries about the doors, parachute deployed and holding.
As they tumbled into the hovercraft and strapped in, Salem wondered why no more shots were fired. Clyde was hanging on to straps, the tilt of the plane threatening to plummet him to the front. He snarled, angry at losing this one. Salem flipped him off triumphantly; Clyde’s reply was quick and furious.“Son of a biiitch!”
Salem checked himself again, snug and tight in the harness, he glanced back at Tyse. “Go!” Okay, both of them ready, masks on, he pulled a red lever which unanchored them for the most part. A last security tether held them in place. As Salem pulled out his pistol to break the last line, he thought of shooting Clyde, now defenseless, arms wide and fully exposed. A plane breaking into pieces, racketing back and forth out of control, an unsteady hand and no idea how much ammo he had left
This isn’t the time for a personal vendetta. Clyde’ll die no matter what. No chute, no nothing, he’s done for. Shots rang out till one met its mark and severed the safety line. The rush of momentum pulled the harness tight, a feeling of weightlessness fleeting as the world imposed gravity again. The crash onto the water was harsh, sudden, and oh so good.
Tyse pointed the way, his internal compass a constant help, because it all looked the same to Salem. He sped in that direction, the knot in his stomach loosening ready for a good drink or two, enough to black out and forget about a maniac’s obsession with his ass. Enough to never have to think or talk about it again.
A/N: I dare you to watch the video again and not see it the way I see it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdAe98e6KaY&feature=related
Fic to be continued in a sequel that is coming soon!
Title: Mile High S&M Club
Chapter 3/3
Pairing/Characters: Clyde/Salem, Rios
Warning: The plane’s end is approaching and so is the story’s. Hard R.
“I do.” Simple words, sharp and defiant. Salem expected a swift blow to the base of his skull, a punch to a kidney, a jab of pain to shut him up. He should have known better. Instead Clyde wrapped one arm around his chest as the other kept steady with the barrel of the gun pressed firmly under his chin. Elliot wished that the awkward dry humping was the worst of it.
It was the mouth spread wide against the back of his neck, the slashed cheeks bleeding anew mixing with spit as Clyde licked him. Fucking licked him. It felt like a snake, jaw unhinged, teeth tight against his skin. He never thought he’d be glad that the asshole took care of his teeth, kept them straight and blunt.
Clyde’s arm tightened, the gun tilted Salem’s face back. “How’d you manage to be so stupid and stay alive in this business?” A slick tongue lapped his skin, wiping the blood away. “C’mon, don’t want to keep Rios waiting. You got some last goodbyes to get through.”
Face tight, yet impassive, Salem took a quick inventory. He still had his pistol, strapped on and safety locked; no good to him now. Keep a cool head. Wait for it. Clyde urged him forward; the hand at his shoulder stiff, the lone thumb stroking his neck. Bastard liked to touch too much.
As they left the cockpit, the pilot’s bloodied corpse swayed with the plane, hand settled on the radio, which chirped to life in green lights “Unidentified aircraft, change course…”
Crate upon crate of illegal weapons kept spaces narrow, the line of sight short. Salem shuffled ahead, throat tight. He could shout now, Rios would hear it, be armed and ready; and Salem would be dead. No matter how much leeway Clyde gave to keep him alive long enough to get his rocks off, he’d never risk his life for a fuck..
They’d reached the middle of the plane, table and chairs strapped in for a bit of comfort. At the sight of Tyse’s resting form, Salem felt a slab of concrete settle at the bottom of his stomach. “Too fucking easy.” Clyde murmured favorably.
A rumble flowed through the panes of tempered glass and the sheets of metal that made up the body of the plane. Tyse’s eyes glanced out into the grey skies and witnessed a sleek fighter jet slip around the larger craft. “Yo, Elliot, check this out…” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elliot’s figure stiff, quiet…wrong.
It took less than a heartbeat to access the situation. He knew it was Clyde without seeing the man’s face, without hearing his sneering voice. It was the taut redness around Salem’s eyes, a hell of a tell that only came out when he was angry at himself, when he was overwhelmed, when he got pinned down and was kept there. It was the angry brow, dipped low and hard, that made it personal and less than a handful of people in this field ever got in close enough to make it personal. The tendons in his neck stood out, out of pain? It’s fucking Clyde, of course Elliot’s in pain.
The fury contorted his face; every muscle in his body tensed, ready to act.
“Hands over your head”. Amused, playful. Clyde leaned sideways from behind Salem, his face pale. A moment later the bloody mess that was his mouth grinned while his gun played in the hostage’s hair.
Rios stood blocking the way, hands fisted, shoulders squared. It was an exercise in patience, in concentration, waiting for the right split second to strike. “You know, you two really piss me off.” The gun slid out of place. Instead of a kill shot, it would maim Salem, tearing a chunk out of his head. He’d die of it, surely. Yet, it’ll be slow, painful and ugly. Warning received. Rios stood his ground, his posture altered slightly, indistinguishable to the untrained eye, but a quick flicker between Salem and Rios told Clyde all he needed to know. They were going to play ball. “I swear to God, if Dalton didn't have such a hard-on for the both of you, I'd have killed you a long time ago-”
An explosion to their left, sudden, powerful. Distracting. Salem slammed against a crate, a moment’s reprieve from the gun digging into his head. He gritted his teeth, lips snarled and thrust his elbow back hard. It connected with Clyde’s tattered cheek, for a sickening instant splitting it apart. The blow struck just right, unbalancing the madman. Clyde hadn’t even collided against the cabin’s floor as Rios and Salem scrambled to the back of the plane where their gear was fortunately stored.
At some point before reaching Rios, Clyde had taken the silencer off. He had wanted to hear the sharp crack of gunfire as he killed the larger man, had wanted Salem to hear it. So that the tattooed tin soldier could relive it vividly for as long as Clyde kept him alive. Now the shots rang out as he slid on the floor, still aiming only at Rios. He could subdue little Elliot by himself, no problem. Just take papa Bear out of the picture.
He pulled out a submachine gun and aimed high over Salem, cables and pipes ripe offerings for an explosion to flush him out. It didn’t work like he wanted, instead Salem peeked out, pistol in hand, wasting a clip into nothing since Clyde had taken his own cover. He’d have to try harder to get Salem out of there. He’d shoot the man, no problem-o fuck-o, just a knee cap, a nice flesh wound, something to knock him down, but not lethal. He could have pulled a lethal shot from second one, Salem had shitty aim when he tried. He couldn’t blind fire for shit, so up comes his head, a nice target with no mask.
A lull settled momentarily and Clyde saw the large gun tossed from one side to another. He reached into the crate at his side and pulled out a larger gun, a machine gun, ammo nestled snuggly right next to it. He raised it, its weight heavy, too much for his arms alone. He slid around the corner, listening, he could hear straps snapping at a blade’s edge, a shot gun being reloaded, a good time to strike.
His shots rang out ignored. The pair continued to suit up, to cut loose something. Fuckin’ A! The hovercraft, the one with a parachute attached for quick deployment. They were going to run. No, not today. Not getting away till he had his fill. Clyde unhooked a grenade and lobbed it to the back. Fully suited, wearing the masks, Salem and Rios would survive, but that inflated go-cart would pop.
A clatter demanded their attention. “He didn’t just…” Rios slammed his body back incredulously. For whatever reason those fighter planes were shooting this plane down, it was nowhere near as crazy as throwing a live grenade while inside it.
“Shit!” Salem huddled against a corner, gun raised impotently. If he could think straight he might have thought to lower his mask, his instincts and adrenaline confused and fraying at the ends.
Another large explosion thundered around them as the plane tilted on its axis and dipped forward. The round grenade rolled back, then forward picking up speed, heading straight towards Clyde. “What an idiot.” Rios beamed at Elliot, his grin quickly fading.
His partner’s body still pressed tight into the corner, eyes pressed shut. He leaned in, hand warm and firm on Elliot’s face. Salem’s eyes shot open, met Tyse’s and calmed down immediately. An unspoken question passed between them. A quick nod and a few words answer enough. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tyson raced to the bay doors, all shoot up, the controller sparking and aflame. He pried one lock open, the second one bent and stuck in its place. He raised his large boot and slammed it down. “Open, dammit, open!”
Elliot prepped the vehicle, checked it for damage, made sure the chute wasn’t tattered holes. As he leaned into the driver’s seat, a figure stood out black amongst the sparks. Clyde, with a bazooka. Salem could punch and kiss Cha-Min Soo’s ugly mug. Sure the vehicles and manpower were an added bonus from their friendship, but the man was always running his weapons, ammo included as a gift as was his family tradition and business practice.
A bead of sweat ran down the dip of Salem’s spine. The smoke and chaos couldn’t hide the glee on Clyde’s face, the icy blue eyes alight in whatever a psychopath considers fun, the mouth a red mess full of teeth. A wide grin and Salem knew exactly what Clyde planned as the bazooka leveraged higher. To kill them both, he’d only have to aim low, get the hovercraft and take them with it, but higher, a big bullseye on Tyse’s back. Fucker still planned on keeping Salem around.
In a blink the missile blasted towards Tyse, still kicking the door, no idea of what’s happening. Salem shocked into silence, his body betraying his mind as he wanted to move quickly and warn Tyse, move him, get him down and safe.
A fiery explosion, loud and mean surged behind Salem “Whoa.” Tyse was alive, surprised but alive. A breath he didn’t know he was holding rushed out of Salem’s lungs. He looked back. Sky surged behind them, no more worries about the doors, parachute deployed and holding.
As they tumbled into the hovercraft and strapped in, Salem wondered why no more shots were fired. Clyde was hanging on to straps, the tilt of the plane threatening to plummet him to the front. He snarled, angry at losing this one. Salem flipped him off triumphantly; Clyde’s reply was quick and furious.“Son of a biiitch!”
Salem checked himself again, snug and tight in the harness, he glanced back at Tyse. “Go!” Okay, both of them ready, masks on, he pulled a red lever which unanchored them for the most part. A last security tether held them in place. As Salem pulled out his pistol to break the last line, he thought of shooting Clyde, now defenseless, arms wide and fully exposed. A plane breaking into pieces, racketing back and forth out of control, an unsteady hand and no idea how much ammo he had left
This isn’t the time for a personal vendetta. Clyde’ll die no matter what. No chute, no nothing, he’s done for. Shots rang out till one met its mark and severed the safety line. The rush of momentum pulled the harness tight, a feeling of weightlessness fleeting as the world imposed gravity again. The crash onto the water was harsh, sudden, and oh so good.
Tyse pointed the way, his internal compass a constant help, because it all looked the same to Salem. He sped in that direction, the knot in his stomach loosening ready for a good drink or two, enough to black out and forget about a maniac’s obsession with his ass. Enough to never have to think or talk about it again.
A/N: I dare you to watch the video again and not see it the way I see it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdAe98e6KaY&feature=related
Fic to be continued in a sequel that is coming soon!