Fic, AKA justice being served
Greetings! Someone in here can't leave well enough alone and has written a sequel to missmonkeh's Bond-roleplaying fic posted not long ago. (No worries, I asked first whether I could. XD) I suppose it can stand alone as well, but there are references to the first fic throughout that will be missed if you haven't read it (which you should, 'cause it's awesome). Basically, this one picks up where the other left off. And it's exactly what it sounds like.
Title: Judge, Jury, Executioner
Pairing: Big Boss/Zero
Rating: NC-17 or thereabouts
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary: "Bond returns in order to mete out justice." But Big Boss might just break the game...
Warnings: Some continued power-play (duh), dreadful justice puns, BB being a troll.
Notes: Monkeh and I talked about the setting and concluded this to be taking place some time after MGS3, assuming that even if BB quit FOX officially, the two of them would've kept in touch once the initial bitterness subsided. (In MPO it sure doesn't look like BB no longer cares about Zero, considering he keeps asking about him, as well as joins The Patriots later on.) Bonus canon backstage drama!
Disclaimer: I own neither MGS nor James Bond; no profit made.
Judge, Jury, Executioner
“I have some ideas I'd like to run past you.”
Jack had agreed to the earlier game mostly out of curiosity, but he hadn't expected it to be this good at raising his own spirits. Naked now except for the eyepatch, a little breathless and very excited, he sauntered over to where Zero was standing, doing his best to mimic the predatory air that had been part of Zero's original role. Truth was, he didn't have to try too hard. Something about the situation made him feel unapologetically confident-some would perhaps call it intimidating-a state that wasn't even threatened by the fact that Zero granted no respite from his scrutiny. Destination reached, Jack didn't think twice, didn't think once, about drawing the other man into a kiss.
“What ideas might those be?” There was an eager undertone to Zero's voice when they parted, much as he was probably trying to keep it down. Jack had never seen him so unhinged before; sure, it was all just details, but Zero never gave more than that.
“Let's see,” and he smirked, “about Bond villains. Does poetic justice work on them?”
“You mean in the sense of having their scheming turn against them to bring about their downfall? Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Jack's smirk grew wider as he advanced again, backing Zero into the nearest corner, meeting no resistance. “Thanks.” It was the last unembellished word he'd say for a while. “Now turn around,” he tried the commanding tone on for size. It fit more naturally than he would've thought. “Your hands on the wall, Major.”
When Zero obeyed, just like that, Jack took the chance simply to stand aside and savour the temporary stillness. Not that he could really call it that with the blood thrumming in his ears and other places thanks to the teasing he'd already been through, but that was far from a reason to complain. He drew a sharp breath, then moved in, nudging Zero's booted feet apart with his bare one, once more with instant compliance. Hell. This was going to go to his head fast.
As if to mirror that thought, one of his hands reached for Zero's face, tracing blindly the outline of his nose, his mouth, his scar, before sliding upwards to get a haphazard grip on his hair and prevent motion. “Shame Bond doesn't get to make fancy speeches. Why bother winning when you can't even rub it in?” he breathed, taking care to sound the tiniest bit dangerous. In all honesty, he didn't know whether Bond was ever afforded a fancy speech or not: all the monologues Jack could boast familiarity with had come from this man who now stood uncannily quiet beside him, shivering occasionally with ill-concealed impatience.
No real need to talk, anyway, what with the rules having been set. Jack's other hand angled lower and cupped the bulge in the other's crotch, the action designed to be as invasive as possible; he pawed at it as though it were a treat, listening for anything less contained than the tuneless gasps Zero was letting slip in response. Nothing was forthcoming. Not annoyed or deterred in the least, Jack released his grip on Zero's hair so that he could bring both his hands where they were needed for the next objective, which lay in getting those pants out of the picture. He undid the fly slowly, giving a false sense of security before he yanked everything down in one swift go, leaving the mess of creased fabric to land in an undignified heap around Zero's ankles.
Half-dressed was good, Jack decided as he ran a finger down his captive's length, the touch fleeting yet more than enough to drive anyone at the receiving end of it crazy, let alone someone who was barred from doing anything about his mounting arousal himself. True, Zero could take his hands off the wall and use them, but such a blatant spoiling of the act was near-unthinkable. The rush of power that knowledge brought sooner got a gasp out of Jack, in fact, his own erection verging on painful.
This was it. On a whim, Jack wrapped an arm around Zero's neck to pull him into a chokehold-hard enough to be felt, just shy of actually strangling-while his right hand closed tight over his cock and pumped. Something told him that dealing out justice probably shouldn't be bordering on pure desperation, but like hell he was going to slow down when he could practically feel his orgasm looming already despite the bulk of his concentration being elsewhere. He paused to spit on his hand; though it was far from ideal as far as lube went, it beat not caring at all. Seconds later he was probing something unseen and tight with those fingers, smiling at the cry that provoked at last, encouraged still further when Zero's hips pressed back to meet him halfway. This wasn't an activity they engaged in too often so any indication of how tolerable or not it felt was welcome, but Jack hadn't dared hope for enthusiasm so soon. Damn if he was going to question it, though.
He was as relentless as he was given leave to be, finger-fucking the man while still keeping himself at arm's length, quite literally, all too aware of the fact that he wouldn't last long if subject to anything more intense. A relief that the situation was almost at a point where it wouldn't matter. He needed his share, too.
And although he'd been preparing some sarcastic innuendo so as to keep in-character for this part, he failed to deliver on that count completely. Instead, there was gasping and trembling when Jack shifted his position to make that first thrust inside, overwhelmed, for a moment, by the rarity of it alone. Zero's body was never pliant, but it welcomed him, or so it felt as they both fell into an uncompromising rhythm only fitting for their broken revenge-play. Jack managed to go back to stroking Zero's shaft one-handed; anything to ensure he wouldn't be coming alone sometime during the following few minutes. His other hand he braced on Zero's hip, steadying them as much as the wall that supported their combined weight. With the way Zero was bending forward now, Jack wished he had taken the only suit remaining between them off entirely, just to see the tension in the muscles there and the curve of his commander's spine.
(Well, not his commander anymore. Not in FOX and certainly not here, but it would take a while to see that reflex change.)
The reality of being allowed to take a man like that was what finally sent Jack over the edge, weak in the knees with sensation-but even more satisfying was the fluid dripping from his fingers, one good indicator that his efforts had met with success on all fronts. He held on while his climax burned itself out, and then just because he could. All he heard was his companion's ragged breathing, and he wondered if there was a twinge of frailty in it or just exhaustion all through. (Only human, after all.) His arms wrapped around the older man; the imaginary curtain descended on the stage.
“So how's this,” Jack's voice could barely touch the silence when he spoke, “for justice?”
Zero chuckled. The tiredness was undeniable now, but so was a hint of something much warmer. “Served too well to need Bond for an excuse.”
Title: Judge, Jury, Executioner
Pairing: Big Boss/Zero
Rating: NC-17 or thereabouts
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary: "Bond returns in order to mete out justice." But Big Boss might just break the game...
Warnings: Some continued power-play (duh), dreadful justice puns, BB being a troll.
Notes: Monkeh and I talked about the setting and concluded this to be taking place some time after MGS3, assuming that even if BB quit FOX officially, the two of them would've kept in touch once the initial bitterness subsided. (In MPO it sure doesn't look like BB no longer cares about Zero, considering he keeps asking about him, as well as joins The Patriots later on.) Bonus canon backstage drama!
Disclaimer: I own neither MGS nor James Bond; no profit made.
Judge, Jury, Executioner
“I have some ideas I'd like to run past you.”
Jack had agreed to the earlier game mostly out of curiosity, but he hadn't expected it to be this good at raising his own spirits. Naked now except for the eyepatch, a little breathless and very excited, he sauntered over to where Zero was standing, doing his best to mimic the predatory air that had been part of Zero's original role. Truth was, he didn't have to try too hard. Something about the situation made him feel unapologetically confident-some would perhaps call it intimidating-a state that wasn't even threatened by the fact that Zero granted no respite from his scrutiny. Destination reached, Jack didn't think twice, didn't think once, about drawing the other man into a kiss.
“What ideas might those be?” There was an eager undertone to Zero's voice when they parted, much as he was probably trying to keep it down. Jack had never seen him so unhinged before; sure, it was all just details, but Zero never gave more than that.
“Let's see,” and he smirked, “about Bond villains. Does poetic justice work on them?”
“You mean in the sense of having their scheming turn against them to bring about their downfall? Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Jack's smirk grew wider as he advanced again, backing Zero into the nearest corner, meeting no resistance. “Thanks.” It was the last unembellished word he'd say for a while. “Now turn around,” he tried the commanding tone on for size. It fit more naturally than he would've thought. “Your hands on the wall, Major.”
When Zero obeyed, just like that, Jack took the chance simply to stand aside and savour the temporary stillness. Not that he could really call it that with the blood thrumming in his ears and other places thanks to the teasing he'd already been through, but that was far from a reason to complain. He drew a sharp breath, then moved in, nudging Zero's booted feet apart with his bare one, once more with instant compliance. Hell. This was going to go to his head fast.
As if to mirror that thought, one of his hands reached for Zero's face, tracing blindly the outline of his nose, his mouth, his scar, before sliding upwards to get a haphazard grip on his hair and prevent motion. “Shame Bond doesn't get to make fancy speeches. Why bother winning when you can't even rub it in?” he breathed, taking care to sound the tiniest bit dangerous. In all honesty, he didn't know whether Bond was ever afforded a fancy speech or not: all the monologues Jack could boast familiarity with had come from this man who now stood uncannily quiet beside him, shivering occasionally with ill-concealed impatience.
No real need to talk, anyway, what with the rules having been set. Jack's other hand angled lower and cupped the bulge in the other's crotch, the action designed to be as invasive as possible; he pawed at it as though it were a treat, listening for anything less contained than the tuneless gasps Zero was letting slip in response. Nothing was forthcoming. Not annoyed or deterred in the least, Jack released his grip on Zero's hair so that he could bring both his hands where they were needed for the next objective, which lay in getting those pants out of the picture. He undid the fly slowly, giving a false sense of security before he yanked everything down in one swift go, leaving the mess of creased fabric to land in an undignified heap around Zero's ankles.
Half-dressed was good, Jack decided as he ran a finger down his captive's length, the touch fleeting yet more than enough to drive anyone at the receiving end of it crazy, let alone someone who was barred from doing anything about his mounting arousal himself. True, Zero could take his hands off the wall and use them, but such a blatant spoiling of the act was near-unthinkable. The rush of power that knowledge brought sooner got a gasp out of Jack, in fact, his own erection verging on painful.
This was it. On a whim, Jack wrapped an arm around Zero's neck to pull him into a chokehold-hard enough to be felt, just shy of actually strangling-while his right hand closed tight over his cock and pumped. Something told him that dealing out justice probably shouldn't be bordering on pure desperation, but like hell he was going to slow down when he could practically feel his orgasm looming already despite the bulk of his concentration being elsewhere. He paused to spit on his hand; though it was far from ideal as far as lube went, it beat not caring at all. Seconds later he was probing something unseen and tight with those fingers, smiling at the cry that provoked at last, encouraged still further when Zero's hips pressed back to meet him halfway. This wasn't an activity they engaged in too often so any indication of how tolerable or not it felt was welcome, but Jack hadn't dared hope for enthusiasm so soon. Damn if he was going to question it, though.
He was as relentless as he was given leave to be, finger-fucking the man while still keeping himself at arm's length, quite literally, all too aware of the fact that he wouldn't last long if subject to anything more intense. A relief that the situation was almost at a point where it wouldn't matter. He needed his share, too.
And although he'd been preparing some sarcastic innuendo so as to keep in-character for this part, he failed to deliver on that count completely. Instead, there was gasping and trembling when Jack shifted his position to make that first thrust inside, overwhelmed, for a moment, by the rarity of it alone. Zero's body was never pliant, but it welcomed him, or so it felt as they both fell into an uncompromising rhythm only fitting for their broken revenge-play. Jack managed to go back to stroking Zero's shaft one-handed; anything to ensure he wouldn't be coming alone sometime during the following few minutes. His other hand he braced on Zero's hip, steadying them as much as the wall that supported their combined weight. With the way Zero was bending forward now, Jack wished he had taken the only suit remaining between them off entirely, just to see the tension in the muscles there and the curve of his commander's spine.
(Well, not his commander anymore. Not in FOX and certainly not here, but it would take a while to see that reflex change.)
The reality of being allowed to take a man like that was what finally sent Jack over the edge, weak in the knees with sensation-but even more satisfying was the fluid dripping from his fingers, one good indicator that his efforts had met with success on all fronts. He held on while his climax burned itself out, and then just because he could. All he heard was his companion's ragged breathing, and he wondered if there was a twinge of frailty in it or just exhaustion all through. (Only human, after all.) His arms wrapped around the older man; the imaginary curtain descended on the stage.
“So how's this,” Jack's voice could barely touch the silence when he spoke, “for justice?”
Zero chuckled. The tiredness was undeniable now, but so was a hint of something much warmer. “Served too well to need Bond for an excuse.”