fits the challenge theme but i don't really care :|
Author: uuuuh well, me
Rating: PG-13ish, just for language
Pairing: Ocelot/Big Boss
Warnings: GAY
Words: 2218
Summary: Another version of the "gay chicken" story + aftermath, 'cause haku23's got the idea in my head and it wouldn't leave. HAHAHAHA
This is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
He is sitting in Snake's room, on Snake's couch, which is old and needs cleaning. There is shitty American beer that he never drinks placed on the table in front of them. There is a ridiculously loud and nonsensical football game on the television set.
He would remark upon these things and scorn them, usually, but currently he is a little bit preoccupied kissing Big Boss like a dying man would... kiss Big Boss, he thinks, then disposes with metaphor. His mind is a little hazy right now.
This is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
He's leaning forward, hands trailing their way from Snake's shoulders up to the back of Snake's head. He's forcing the other man's head into an upward tilt, never allowing their mouths to part, holding his breath and closing his eyes and feeling his heart race in his chest. And just when he's about 110% confident (because shooting for something like a piddling 99% is way too low for someone like Ocelot) that he's got Snake also panting and dizzy and so when, mostly with his tongue, he tries to pry Snake's lips open --
is when Snake punches him in the stomach.
Ocelot lands on his back with a thud, staring up at Snake -- which turns very quickly into a glare when he realizes that Snake is wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and who looks more confused than anything else.
"What," Ocelot starts, but then snaps his mouth closed again when Snake says,
"I don't think I get this game."
Ocelot's glare fades into a stare which fades back into a glare (he's good at that, he practices in the mirror sometimes just to make sure he's got it right) and he demands, "You've never played chicken? Surely in America --"
"Chicken never involved anybody kissing me," Snake replies as his brow furrows further. "Just cars. What are the rules for the kissing version?"
And then the bastard has the nerve to sit there, blinking at him expectantly like he seriously wants an answer.
"What!? You -- how can you -- " Ocelot begins to sputter angrily, then realizes that he is sputtering angrily and stops immediately, shoving himself back upright and feeling the blood rising in his face and trying to salvage what he can of the situation.
Well, for one thing, apparently the fact that a man has just mashed his mouth on his hasn't fazed Snake one bit, which is somewhat mollifying. But then there's the fact that Ocelot (Ocelot, who is clearly not just some man) has just mashed his mouth on his, and very obviously wanted to mash his mouth on his (and possibly do more, involving knives and ropes and various torture methods but he's not getting into that now), and that Snake's only response was confusion and and he's missed the entire point of this silly excuse of a game and Ocelot had just kissed him furiously and all that it had done was get Snake wondering about the rules --
Oh, oh. His ego cannot take this. His ego doesn't have to take this.
"You wouldn't understand anyway!" he finishes (totally not sounding like a hurt girlfriend in his head. at all.) and jumps to his feet and knocking over the table with the shitty American beer. He points a totally non-melodramatic finger down at Snake, striking a totally non-melodramatic pose, made all the less melodramatic by the obvious and somewhat awkward state of his pants at the moment. "I should have known better than to expect someone like you to pick up on subtleties -- "
Snake blinks at him, looking even more confused than ever. "What was subtle about trying to shove your tongue in my mouth?"
"It -- I -- " After a few seconds, when Ocelot realizes that he can't think of a witty response to this, he does what he's best at (one of many things he's best at) with a snarl of frustration.
Ocelot flounces.
---
"I don't know. Some game," Snake's trying to explain for possibly the thirteenth time today.
As usual (or what seems to be usual, as far as he's found), the random soldier he's grabbed mid-patrol (he's getting slightly desperate here) listens right up until he gets to the kissing and then instantly starts acting uncomfortable, shuffling his feet and refusing to meet Snake's eyes.
And like all the others, he rapidly and vehemently denies any and all knowledge about "that kind of thing" or "Ocelot and... um, you know... or maybe you don't, it's nothing! Nothing, sir! Really!" when Big Boss prods him for answers.
Snake is starting to think this is some kind of conspiracy.
That, or that Ocelot's planning something, and it's never good when Ocelot's planning something.
After a day of further fruitless attempts to get some kind of information -- any kind of information -- out of anyone around him, Snake slumps into the chair behind his desk in the stupid overcluttered 'Big Boss office' with a resigned groan.
And dials Para-Medic.
---
"Ocelot!"
Ocelot looks up warily from his desk at the sound of Snake's voice calling down the hall. It's entirely too cheerful for his taste -- but then, anything happier than how he's feeling himself is entirely too cheerful for his taste at the moment. He contents himself to turn in his chair and wait, looking at the door expectantly, lounging lazily (gracefully) against the back of his seat like he hasn't been waiting impatiently for this.
Because he totally hasn't. Not all day.
"Ocelot!" The door swings open and then Snake's striding in, not bothering to close it behind him. Ocelot's eyes narrow at the slightly stupid grin on Snake's face, but it's not until Snake says, "I get it now. The game, I mean. Para-Medic explained -- "
that Ocelot freezes, pen dropping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.
"What. What is it?"
"You told Para-Medic?" Ocelot hisses, hands clenching into fists.
"No one else on base would explain," Snake says with a shrug of his shoulder, then walks a bit closer -- far too much closer for Ocelot's comfort, as he's busy trying to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head. As if telling the entire base that Ocelot was gay, was gay for him, and had tried to kiss him were nothing out of the ordinary --
and this game idea, this stupid game idea -- it figured that when one of Ocelot's plots finally backfired on him, it would be something he tried on Snake --
"We could rematch if you like, I cut the last one off a bit short -- "
"No!" Ocelot bounds out of his chair with another snarl of frustration that sounds quite similar to the one he'd made before, arms and back stiff with embarrassed anger that he totally isn't going to show to Snake right now. He whirls on his heel, and again with the dramatic pointing finger --
"You still don't understand!"
"I just told you I know the rules now -- " Concern and worry make their way across Snake's face. Which only pisses Ocelot off even more.
"You are impossible!" He throws his hands up, rolling his eyes.
And then Ocelot flounces. Again.
---
"I don't know," Snake's trying to explain for possibly the thirtieth time that week. "It must be something important, or he wouldn't be acting like this. Somebody just tell me!"
"Well -- uh, sir."
"Yes?"
"It's -- Major Ocelot, sir."
"I realize it's Ocelot."
There's a silence where every soldier gathered in the impromptu meeting looks meaningfully at Snake and Snake doesn't get it.
"Well?"
"Well, it's -- "
"Ocelot, we established that."
"And you know, he..."
"He what?"
"He," one says with an audible swallow, "well, he's... you know," at the same time that another laughs awkwardly and replies, "maybe it's just us," and another asks, "you haven't noticed...?" and another just plain bolts from the room.
Clearly, this is not getting him anywhere. Snake sighs and dismisses all of them, watching them all run from the room almost as fast as the first guy.
And after another day of further fruitless attempts to get some kind of information -- any kind of information -- out of anyone around him, Snake slumps into the chair behind his desk in the stupid overcluttered 'Big Boss office' with a resigned groan.
And dials Para-Medic. Again.
---
Ocelot's at a table in the mess hall, seated alone and right at the center of the room, back stiff and chin up as if daring anybody to say a word. But then, that's pretty much par for the course. What's not so par is when Snake slides into a seat across from him, as casually as possible.
Ocelot goes on eating as if he's not there, chewing and swallowing mechanically and putting his trained thousand-yard-stare to good use -- or at least he does, until Snake sighs, leans an elbow on the table and starts idly building a miniature fort out of the plate of mashed potatoes in front of him.
That's it. the Ocelot throws down his sandwich and stands, glowering down at Snake.
"Are you mocking me?"
"What?"
"You've been following me around all day," he hisses. "Do you think I and everyone else have not noticed?"
Snake blinks. "So? I do that sometimes."
"Not after -- " Ocelot catches himself and pounds a hand on the table. "Are you mocking me?"
"What? How?"
"Pretending nothing happened!"
"So are you."
"That's not the point!"
Snake sighs. "Look, I talked to Para-Medic again and she said that since no one else will tell me what the hell is going on, I should just ask you -- "
Ocelot freezes. "Ask me what."
"What the hell is going on," Snake answers matter-of-factly, and Ocelot feels the sudden inane hope he hadn't noticed he'd built up crumble.
"Nothing!" he says, a little louder than necessary, mostly for the benefit of those around them who he's sure are listening.
"But then -- "
"Nothing!"
"But -- "
"Nothing -- "
"But you -- "
"Nothing. Nothing."
"Do you like me?"
"No!"
It's out before Ocelot can stop it, and he's caught in a stomach-lurching split second of surprise and regret and panic -- all of which, he's sure, is as clear across his face as blinking neon signs --
and then Snake starts laughing and all of that's replaced by fury.
What does he see in this dense idiot, anyway? A glorious leader, yes, that's indisputable, but that's an entirely separate domain, that doesn't have anything to do with -- what does he see in this -- this overgrown boy that asks "do you like me?" like he's a fifteen year old in high school -- that's laughing at him --
Ocelot sweeps his tray off the table with a hiss and turns, all ready and set for Flounce #3, when
"Would you quit running away?"
and a hand on his arm stops him.
Ocelot snarls.
"Para-Medic said that might be it," Snake says from somewhere behind and below him, still sounded far too amused for Ocelot's liking.
Ocelot snarls.
But all Snake says is, "Huh." And he actually sounds curious, the bastard. The bastard. "Why didn't you just say something?"
And that's it. That's it.
Ocelot explodes.
"Clearly I make it a habit to kiss men I dislike!" It's Snake's tray that goes flying off the table this time as Ocelot whirls around, slamming both hands into the table. "What is wrong with you, you -- you idiot dense American -- "
Snake's eye widens and he jumps to his feet as the table itself goes flying too -- and then he's frowning, anger rising to match Ocelot's. "Hey, you're the one that said it was a game to begin with!"
Ocelot counters with something in a long string of a familiar sounding language that has the mouths of a few of the Russian-looking soldiers behind him dropping open.
"What the hell was that for? I even offered you a rematch -- "
"Of a game," Ocelot spits.
"Of a game, if that's what you wanted to do!" With a noise of frustration, Snake steps forward, reaches out, and grabs at his shoulders, giving him a shake. "All you had to do was tell me! Do you think I would have offered a rematch of something like that to anyone else?"
Ocelot starts to throw back a snide rejoinder, but then the words sink in and he opens his mouth, closes it -- then stares as Snake backs off, looking somewhat stunned himself for a few seconds before raising a hand to scratch at the back of his head.
"So," Snake says finally, clearing his throat and glancing at his watch. "About that rematch -- "
And Ocelot's suddenly aware of a couple of dozen pairs of eyes on the two of them, watching with rapt attention from every corner of the mess hall. He recovers himself, narrows his eyes, and meets every single one of those attentive gazes until they're the ones turning away, embarrassed. Let them talk and whisper, he doesn't care any more -- after all, this is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
"About that rematch," he says, and turns toward the exit, calling over his shoulder to Snake -- the corner of his mouth is already lifting upward in a confident smirk. "You'll lose."
"I don't like losing."
"You'll start to."
With that, Ocelot flounces for the final time.
A few seconds later, he returns, snarling beneath his breath about damned dense Americans that can't take any hints at all, then flounces again.
With Snake this time.
Rating: PG-13ish, just for language
Pairing: Ocelot/Big Boss
Warnings: GAY
Words: 2218
Summary: Another version of the "gay chicken" story + aftermath, 'cause haku23's got the idea in my head and it wouldn't leave. HAHAHAHA
This is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
He is sitting in Snake's room, on Snake's couch, which is old and needs cleaning. There is shitty American beer that he never drinks placed on the table in front of them. There is a ridiculously loud and nonsensical football game on the television set.
He would remark upon these things and scorn them, usually, but currently he is a little bit preoccupied kissing Big Boss like a dying man would... kiss Big Boss, he thinks, then disposes with metaphor. His mind is a little hazy right now.
This is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
He's leaning forward, hands trailing their way from Snake's shoulders up to the back of Snake's head. He's forcing the other man's head into an upward tilt, never allowing their mouths to part, holding his breath and closing his eyes and feeling his heart race in his chest. And just when he's about 110% confident (because shooting for something like a piddling 99% is way too low for someone like Ocelot) that he's got Snake also panting and dizzy and so when, mostly with his tongue, he tries to pry Snake's lips open --
is when Snake punches him in the stomach.
Ocelot lands on his back with a thud, staring up at Snake -- which turns very quickly into a glare when he realizes that Snake is wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and who looks more confused than anything else.
"What," Ocelot starts, but then snaps his mouth closed again when Snake says,
"I don't think I get this game."
Ocelot's glare fades into a stare which fades back into a glare (he's good at that, he practices in the mirror sometimes just to make sure he's got it right) and he demands, "You've never played chicken? Surely in America --"
"Chicken never involved anybody kissing me," Snake replies as his brow furrows further. "Just cars. What are the rules for the kissing version?"
And then the bastard has the nerve to sit there, blinking at him expectantly like he seriously wants an answer.
"What!? You -- how can you -- " Ocelot begins to sputter angrily, then realizes that he is sputtering angrily and stops immediately, shoving himself back upright and feeling the blood rising in his face and trying to salvage what he can of the situation.
Well, for one thing, apparently the fact that a man has just mashed his mouth on his hasn't fazed Snake one bit, which is somewhat mollifying. But then there's the fact that Ocelot (Ocelot, who is clearly not just some man) has just mashed his mouth on his, and very obviously wanted to mash his mouth on his (and possibly do more, involving knives and ropes and various torture methods but he's not getting into that now), and that Snake's only response was confusion and and he's missed the entire point of this silly excuse of a game and Ocelot had just kissed him furiously and all that it had done was get Snake wondering about the rules --
Oh, oh. His ego cannot take this. His ego doesn't have to take this.
"You wouldn't understand anyway!" he finishes (totally not sounding like a hurt girlfriend in his head. at all.) and jumps to his feet and knocking over the table with the shitty American beer. He points a totally non-melodramatic finger down at Snake, striking a totally non-melodramatic pose, made all the less melodramatic by the obvious and somewhat awkward state of his pants at the moment. "I should have known better than to expect someone like you to pick up on subtleties -- "
Snake blinks at him, looking even more confused than ever. "What was subtle about trying to shove your tongue in my mouth?"
"It -- I -- " After a few seconds, when Ocelot realizes that he can't think of a witty response to this, he does what he's best at (one of many things he's best at) with a snarl of frustration.
Ocelot flounces.
---
"I don't know. Some game," Snake's trying to explain for possibly the thirteenth time today.
As usual (or what seems to be usual, as far as he's found), the random soldier he's grabbed mid-patrol (he's getting slightly desperate here) listens right up until he gets to the kissing and then instantly starts acting uncomfortable, shuffling his feet and refusing to meet Snake's eyes.
And like all the others, he rapidly and vehemently denies any and all knowledge about "that kind of thing" or "Ocelot and... um, you know... or maybe you don't, it's nothing! Nothing, sir! Really!" when Big Boss prods him for answers.
Snake is starting to think this is some kind of conspiracy.
That, or that Ocelot's planning something, and it's never good when Ocelot's planning something.
After a day of further fruitless attempts to get some kind of information -- any kind of information -- out of anyone around him, Snake slumps into the chair behind his desk in the stupid overcluttered 'Big Boss office' with a resigned groan.
And dials Para-Medic.
---
"Ocelot!"
Ocelot looks up warily from his desk at the sound of Snake's voice calling down the hall. It's entirely too cheerful for his taste -- but then, anything happier than how he's feeling himself is entirely too cheerful for his taste at the moment. He contents himself to turn in his chair and wait, looking at the door expectantly, lounging lazily (gracefully) against the back of his seat like he hasn't been waiting impatiently for this.
Because he totally hasn't. Not all day.
"Ocelot!" The door swings open and then Snake's striding in, not bothering to close it behind him. Ocelot's eyes narrow at the slightly stupid grin on Snake's face, but it's not until Snake says, "I get it now. The game, I mean. Para-Medic explained -- "
that Ocelot freezes, pen dropping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.
"What. What is it?"
"You told Para-Medic?" Ocelot hisses, hands clenching into fists.
"No one else on base would explain," Snake says with a shrug of his shoulder, then walks a bit closer -- far too much closer for Ocelot's comfort, as he's busy trying to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head. As if telling the entire base that Ocelot was gay, was gay for him, and had tried to kiss him were nothing out of the ordinary --
and this game idea, this stupid game idea -- it figured that when one of Ocelot's plots finally backfired on him, it would be something he tried on Snake --
"We could rematch if you like, I cut the last one off a bit short -- "
"No!" Ocelot bounds out of his chair with another snarl of frustration that sounds quite similar to the one he'd made before, arms and back stiff with embarrassed anger that he totally isn't going to show to Snake right now. He whirls on his heel, and again with the dramatic pointing finger --
"You still don't understand!"
"I just told you I know the rules now -- " Concern and worry make their way across Snake's face. Which only pisses Ocelot off even more.
"You are impossible!" He throws his hands up, rolling his eyes.
And then Ocelot flounces. Again.
---
"I don't know," Snake's trying to explain for possibly the thirtieth time that week. "It must be something important, or he wouldn't be acting like this. Somebody just tell me!"
"Well -- uh, sir."
"Yes?"
"It's -- Major Ocelot, sir."
"I realize it's Ocelot."
There's a silence where every soldier gathered in the impromptu meeting looks meaningfully at Snake and Snake doesn't get it.
"Well?"
"Well, it's -- "
"Ocelot, we established that."
"And you know, he..."
"He what?"
"He," one says with an audible swallow, "well, he's... you know," at the same time that another laughs awkwardly and replies, "maybe it's just us," and another asks, "you haven't noticed...?" and another just plain bolts from the room.
Clearly, this is not getting him anywhere. Snake sighs and dismisses all of them, watching them all run from the room almost as fast as the first guy.
And after another day of further fruitless attempts to get some kind of information -- any kind of information -- out of anyone around him, Snake slumps into the chair behind his desk in the stupid overcluttered 'Big Boss office' with a resigned groan.
And dials Para-Medic. Again.
---
Ocelot's at a table in the mess hall, seated alone and right at the center of the room, back stiff and chin up as if daring anybody to say a word. But then, that's pretty much par for the course. What's not so par is when Snake slides into a seat across from him, as casually as possible.
Ocelot goes on eating as if he's not there, chewing and swallowing mechanically and putting his trained thousand-yard-stare to good use -- or at least he does, until Snake sighs, leans an elbow on the table and starts idly building a miniature fort out of the plate of mashed potatoes in front of him.
That's it. the Ocelot throws down his sandwich and stands, glowering down at Snake.
"Are you mocking me?"
"What?"
"You've been following me around all day," he hisses. "Do you think I and everyone else have not noticed?"
Snake blinks. "So? I do that sometimes."
"Not after -- " Ocelot catches himself and pounds a hand on the table. "Are you mocking me?"
"What? How?"
"Pretending nothing happened!"
"So are you."
"That's not the point!"
Snake sighs. "Look, I talked to Para-Medic again and she said that since no one else will tell me what the hell is going on, I should just ask you -- "
Ocelot freezes. "Ask me what."
"What the hell is going on," Snake answers matter-of-factly, and Ocelot feels the sudden inane hope he hadn't noticed he'd built up crumble.
"Nothing!" he says, a little louder than necessary, mostly for the benefit of those around them who he's sure are listening.
"But then -- "
"Nothing!"
"But -- "
"Nothing -- "
"But you -- "
"Nothing. Nothing."
"Do you like me?"
"No!"
It's out before Ocelot can stop it, and he's caught in a stomach-lurching split second of surprise and regret and panic -- all of which, he's sure, is as clear across his face as blinking neon signs --
and then Snake starts laughing and all of that's replaced by fury.
What does he see in this dense idiot, anyway? A glorious leader, yes, that's indisputable, but that's an entirely separate domain, that doesn't have anything to do with -- what does he see in this -- this overgrown boy that asks "do you like me?" like he's a fifteen year old in high school -- that's laughing at him --
Ocelot sweeps his tray off the table with a hiss and turns, all ready and set for Flounce #3, when
"Would you quit running away?"
and a hand on his arm stops him.
Ocelot snarls.
"Para-Medic said that might be it," Snake says from somewhere behind and below him, still sounded far too amused for Ocelot's liking.
Ocelot snarls.
But all Snake says is, "Huh." And he actually sounds curious, the bastard. The bastard. "Why didn't you just say something?"
And that's it. That's it.
Ocelot explodes.
"Clearly I make it a habit to kiss men I dislike!" It's Snake's tray that goes flying off the table this time as Ocelot whirls around, slamming both hands into the table. "What is wrong with you, you -- you idiot dense American -- "
Snake's eye widens and he jumps to his feet as the table itself goes flying too -- and then he's frowning, anger rising to match Ocelot's. "Hey, you're the one that said it was a game to begin with!"
Ocelot counters with something in a long string of a familiar sounding language that has the mouths of a few of the Russian-looking soldiers behind him dropping open.
"What the hell was that for? I even offered you a rematch -- "
"Of a game," Ocelot spits.
"Of a game, if that's what you wanted to do!" With a noise of frustration, Snake steps forward, reaches out, and grabs at his shoulders, giving him a shake. "All you had to do was tell me! Do you think I would have offered a rematch of something like that to anyone else?"
Ocelot starts to throw back a snide rejoinder, but then the words sink in and he opens his mouth, closes it -- then stares as Snake backs off, looking somewhat stunned himself for a few seconds before raising a hand to scratch at the back of his head.
"So," Snake says finally, clearing his throat and glancing at his watch. "About that rematch -- "
And Ocelot's suddenly aware of a couple of dozen pairs of eyes on the two of them, watching with rapt attention from every corner of the mess hall. He recovers himself, narrows his eyes, and meets every single one of those attentive gazes until they're the ones turning away, embarrassed. Let them talk and whisper, he doesn't care any more -- after all, this is possibly the best day of Ocelot's life.
"About that rematch," he says, and turns toward the exit, calling over his shoulder to Snake -- the corner of his mouth is already lifting upward in a confident smirk. "You'll lose."
"I don't like losing."
"You'll start to."
With that, Ocelot flounces for the final time.
A few seconds later, he returns, snarling beneath his breath about damned dense Americans that can't take any hints at all, then flounces again.
With Snake this time.