FIC: WAD Files (1/1) - Live Free or Die Hard
TITLE: WAD Files
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: John/Matt
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Where's all the data?
DISCLAIMER: Live Free or Die Hard and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written as a New Year's Resolution story for poisontaster for yuletide 2008. I'm sorry it wasn't your best experience, sweetie. I hope this helps!
There are certain things that John McClane knows. How to handle a gun. How to deal with terrorists whether he wants to or not. He and his ex-wife are never going to get along for extended periods of time. He’s got more mileage on his body than the beat up car he bought when he was sixteen did. He likes women.
Which doesn’t explain why he’s knocking on Matt’s door at two in the morning because he can’t sleep, and his mind keeps throwing images at him that make jerking off impossible. Matt answers the door looking like he’s been up for a couple of days or like he just rolled out of bed, and he stares at John with shell-shocked eyes. At first John feels a flash of protectiveness - he knows what it’s like to not be able to sleep without seeing bad guys in his own head - but then he hears the sound of sword fighting in the background and shakes his head. “Kid, you have got to get a life.”
“Says the man on my doorstep at two AM?” Matt runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more, and blinks at John.
“I’m not inside playing computer games.”
“But that’s why you came over, right?” Matt steps back and John walks inside, his skin prickling as Matt closes the door behind him. John shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on top of Matt’s and moves over to the futon - Jesus, you’d think the kid could find some real furniture - slouching down on it as Matt does something to his computer screen and then comes over and turns on the TV, powering up the Xbox as well. He flops down, all limbs and big fucking eyes, tossing one of the controllers to John. “I’m going to kick your ass, old man.”
“Old man, huh?”
“Hey, you call me ‘kid’.”
“You haven’t proven me wrong yet.”
“Bullshit.” Matt presses start on his controller and the apartment fills with noise and the TV goes red with splattered blood. It takes a lot to keep John from jerking at the sound, but he manages it, figuring if Matt can handle it without flinching, then he’s got no excuse. They play in a sort of military silence, only talking to direct each other somewhere or to grunt as they jerk their controllers around. John loses himself in the game, focusing on it and ignoring the rest of the world. He can see why this is so addictive, why it’s so easy. All the blood is fake here, all the risk imagined. It’s better than the real world - nothing has consequences. Nobody dies. Nobody gets hurt.
He’s not sure how much time passes before Matt pauses the game, standing up and stretching. His arms reach up to the ceiling and his shirt lifts, exposing the flat of his stomach. John watches him, cataloguing all the places that have healed, all the ones that haven’t quite.
“Got to take a piss. You want something to drink?”
John laughs. “Yeah, those are two sentences that only belong together in some sort of fetish bar, kid.”
Matt looks at him for a long minute and then laughs, his face flushing slightly. “It scares me that you know that, McClane.”
“You think your generation invented weird? Trust me, there was weird long before you guys discovered it. You just talk about it while the rest of us never did.” He rubs his head and then stands up as well. “I’ll get the drinks. You got beer?”
“Yeah. And Mountain Dew.” Matt steps over scattered clothes and books and computer parts as he heads to the bathroom and John goes into what passes as a kitchen. A mini-fridge, a hot plate and a sink not much bigger than the ones usually found in bathrooms. He knows Matt’s cupboards are filled with cereal and pop-tarts and nothing resembling real food at all, but there’s cold beer that John notes is his favorite brand and Mountain Dew filling most of the capacity of the small fridge. He grabs a beer and a Dew and starts back to the living room, stopping instead and heading back toward the back of the small apartment.
Matt’s bedroom door is open, and there’s a mattress on the floor with a tangle of sheets on top of it. The rest of the floor is littered with soda cans and computer parts, gaming books and miniatures. “You know, kid, the strategic level of this mess makes me think you have a career in landmines.”
“I’m sort of a pacifist these days.”
John almost starts as Matt’s voice comes from right behind him. He can feel Matt too close, and he half-turns to put distance between them. “We just killed about a billion and a half zombies, aliens and enemy soldiers.”
“They weren’t real.” Something in Matt’s eyes makes John’s chest hurt and he wishes like hell he could take it all back, give him back the innocence that he lost.
“No. I guess not.” He holds out the Mountain Dew and Matt takes it, leaning on the wall just outside his bedroom door, looking at John. “It gets…not easier, but…easier. It’s like your game, I think. You know, you neutralize the bad guys and work for the minimum loss of innocent life.”
“How do you live with it?”
“I don’t know, Matt.” John shrugs and sets his beer on the bookcase just inside the bedroom door. “You just go on, you know? You accept that it’s all kind of fucked up, and you’re fucked up right along with it and you…keep going.”
“I can’t sleep.”
John nods. “Neither can I.”
“I feel like my skin’s on fire sometimes, you know? I hear things and I see things and my senses are all messed up. When I crash, I have nightmares and…”
John nods again, reaching out. He means to smooth Matt’s hair, brushing it down from where it’s standing on end, but instead he runs careful fingers along Matt’s jaw. “I know.”
Matt flicks his gaze down to John’s fingers and his lips part. No sound comes out, like the question’s caught in his throat, so John leans in and kisses him, keeping him from saying a word. John groans at the contact, all the images he tries to keep at bay when he’s alone in his bed and desperate for some kind of relief, some oblivion crashing in on him as he slides his tongue into Matt’s mouth, tasting Mountain Dew and sugar and bad breath and Matt. Matt shudders under John’s light touch and then shifts off the wall, pressing closer so that his body is flush against John’s.
John doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the cop in him is taking note of every difference between Matt and the women John’s kissed, but the man in him is wrapping his free hand around Matt’s slip hips to the small of his back, pressing him closer still. He can feel Matt’s erection pressed against his thigh, can feel his own rubbing at the denim of his jeans. It’s an explosion of new and old sensations and John shudders, pushing Matt up against the doorjamb so he can hold him in place as he deepens the kiss.
Matt’s hands tug John’s shirt from his jeans and slide underneath it, warm against John’s back. The shock of skin on skin breaks the kiss and John pulls back, breathing hard as he looks down at Matt’s flushed face, his wet and parted lips. “We…” He exhales and watches as Matt shivers and tenses. “We have more zombies to kill.”
“Yeah.” Matt ducks out of John’s arms to pick up the Mountain Dew he’d dropped to the floor at first contact and keeps his eyes averted as John grabs his beer. “Yeah. We do.” He leads the way back to the living room, settling on the far end of the futon. John sits back where he’d been and looks over at Matt, opening his beer with a quick twist of his wrist.
“I don’t bite.” Matt glances over at John, looking from his face to where he’s patting the sofa beside him. Matt takes a moment then moves closer, not quite right next to John but within reach.
“You don’t.”
John gives Matt a smile that’s more smirk than anything and waits for Matt to start the game. “Well, I do, but not until the third date.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: John/Matt
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Where's all the data?
DISCLAIMER: Live Free or Die Hard and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written as a New Year's Resolution story for poisontaster for yuletide 2008. I'm sorry it wasn't your best experience, sweetie. I hope this helps!
There are certain things that John McClane knows. How to handle a gun. How to deal with terrorists whether he wants to or not. He and his ex-wife are never going to get along for extended periods of time. He’s got more mileage on his body than the beat up car he bought when he was sixteen did. He likes women.
Which doesn’t explain why he’s knocking on Matt’s door at two in the morning because he can’t sleep, and his mind keeps throwing images at him that make jerking off impossible. Matt answers the door looking like he’s been up for a couple of days or like he just rolled out of bed, and he stares at John with shell-shocked eyes. At first John feels a flash of protectiveness - he knows what it’s like to not be able to sleep without seeing bad guys in his own head - but then he hears the sound of sword fighting in the background and shakes his head. “Kid, you have got to get a life.”
“Says the man on my doorstep at two AM?” Matt runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more, and blinks at John.
“I’m not inside playing computer games.”
“But that’s why you came over, right?” Matt steps back and John walks inside, his skin prickling as Matt closes the door behind him. John shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on top of Matt’s and moves over to the futon - Jesus, you’d think the kid could find some real furniture - slouching down on it as Matt does something to his computer screen and then comes over and turns on the TV, powering up the Xbox as well. He flops down, all limbs and big fucking eyes, tossing one of the controllers to John. “I’m going to kick your ass, old man.”
“Old man, huh?”
“Hey, you call me ‘kid’.”
“You haven’t proven me wrong yet.”
“Bullshit.” Matt presses start on his controller and the apartment fills with noise and the TV goes red with splattered blood. It takes a lot to keep John from jerking at the sound, but he manages it, figuring if Matt can handle it without flinching, then he’s got no excuse. They play in a sort of military silence, only talking to direct each other somewhere or to grunt as they jerk their controllers around. John loses himself in the game, focusing on it and ignoring the rest of the world. He can see why this is so addictive, why it’s so easy. All the blood is fake here, all the risk imagined. It’s better than the real world - nothing has consequences. Nobody dies. Nobody gets hurt.
He’s not sure how much time passes before Matt pauses the game, standing up and stretching. His arms reach up to the ceiling and his shirt lifts, exposing the flat of his stomach. John watches him, cataloguing all the places that have healed, all the ones that haven’t quite.
“Got to take a piss. You want something to drink?”
John laughs. “Yeah, those are two sentences that only belong together in some sort of fetish bar, kid.”
Matt looks at him for a long minute and then laughs, his face flushing slightly. “It scares me that you know that, McClane.”
“You think your generation invented weird? Trust me, there was weird long before you guys discovered it. You just talk about it while the rest of us never did.” He rubs his head and then stands up as well. “I’ll get the drinks. You got beer?”
“Yeah. And Mountain Dew.” Matt steps over scattered clothes and books and computer parts as he heads to the bathroom and John goes into what passes as a kitchen. A mini-fridge, a hot plate and a sink not much bigger than the ones usually found in bathrooms. He knows Matt’s cupboards are filled with cereal and pop-tarts and nothing resembling real food at all, but there’s cold beer that John notes is his favorite brand and Mountain Dew filling most of the capacity of the small fridge. He grabs a beer and a Dew and starts back to the living room, stopping instead and heading back toward the back of the small apartment.
Matt’s bedroom door is open, and there’s a mattress on the floor with a tangle of sheets on top of it. The rest of the floor is littered with soda cans and computer parts, gaming books and miniatures. “You know, kid, the strategic level of this mess makes me think you have a career in landmines.”
“I’m sort of a pacifist these days.”
John almost starts as Matt’s voice comes from right behind him. He can feel Matt too close, and he half-turns to put distance between them. “We just killed about a billion and a half zombies, aliens and enemy soldiers.”
“They weren’t real.” Something in Matt’s eyes makes John’s chest hurt and he wishes like hell he could take it all back, give him back the innocence that he lost.
“No. I guess not.” He holds out the Mountain Dew and Matt takes it, leaning on the wall just outside his bedroom door, looking at John. “It gets…not easier, but…easier. It’s like your game, I think. You know, you neutralize the bad guys and work for the minimum loss of innocent life.”
“How do you live with it?”
“I don’t know, Matt.” John shrugs and sets his beer on the bookcase just inside the bedroom door. “You just go on, you know? You accept that it’s all kind of fucked up, and you’re fucked up right along with it and you…keep going.”
“I can’t sleep.”
John nods. “Neither can I.”
“I feel like my skin’s on fire sometimes, you know? I hear things and I see things and my senses are all messed up. When I crash, I have nightmares and…”
John nods again, reaching out. He means to smooth Matt’s hair, brushing it down from where it’s standing on end, but instead he runs careful fingers along Matt’s jaw. “I know.”
Matt flicks his gaze down to John’s fingers and his lips part. No sound comes out, like the question’s caught in his throat, so John leans in and kisses him, keeping him from saying a word. John groans at the contact, all the images he tries to keep at bay when he’s alone in his bed and desperate for some kind of relief, some oblivion crashing in on him as he slides his tongue into Matt’s mouth, tasting Mountain Dew and sugar and bad breath and Matt. Matt shudders under John’s light touch and then shifts off the wall, pressing closer so that his body is flush against John’s.
John doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the cop in him is taking note of every difference between Matt and the women John’s kissed, but the man in him is wrapping his free hand around Matt’s slip hips to the small of his back, pressing him closer still. He can feel Matt’s erection pressed against his thigh, can feel his own rubbing at the denim of his jeans. It’s an explosion of new and old sensations and John shudders, pushing Matt up against the doorjamb so he can hold him in place as he deepens the kiss.
Matt’s hands tug John’s shirt from his jeans and slide underneath it, warm against John’s back. The shock of skin on skin breaks the kiss and John pulls back, breathing hard as he looks down at Matt’s flushed face, his wet and parted lips. “We…” He exhales and watches as Matt shivers and tenses. “We have more zombies to kill.”
“Yeah.” Matt ducks out of John’s arms to pick up the Mountain Dew he’d dropped to the floor at first contact and keeps his eyes averted as John grabs his beer. “Yeah. We do.” He leads the way back to the living room, settling on the far end of the futon. John sits back where he’d been and looks over at Matt, opening his beer with a quick twist of his wrist.
“I don’t bite.” Matt glances over at John, looking from his face to where he’s patting the sofa beside him. Matt takes a moment then moves closer, not quite right next to John but within reach.
“You don’t.”
John gives Matt a smile that’s more smirk than anything and waits for Matt to start the game. “Well, I do, but not until the third date.”