RED Sniper/BLU Sniper awkward cuddling.
Really really awkward. And like, over 1300 words of it.
There is no privacy in the bases and it’s too far, too redundant, and too conspicuous to drive all the way into town—in camper vans—for a motel. But with winter on the way the RED and BLU Snipers have been finding it more difficult to meet with each other. Neither of them wants to trek out to one of the drafty neutral outposts when the temperature’s near freezing.
But the arrangement is too agreeable to give up easily, so they move matters into the vans themselves. Though still on the chilly side, at least they’re easily accessible.
For the RED Sniper, being in the BLU’s camper van is strangely intimate in a way coming all over his hands doesn’t quite encompass. It’s not exactly like being invited into his home, but in some ways it is. More so than a motel would’ve been—seeing the just-washed cup on the counter, a rumpled hand towel tossed aside, a book lying out, smells of gun grease and laundry soap that aren’t the same as RED Sniper’s yet are still familiar somehow.
Since it is cold and dark out by the time they finish, the BLU Sniper invites him to stay. He mutters something about the Spies being at it all hours lately, trying to out-spy each other or whatever it is spies do with their time. Easier just to settle in until morning.
The camper van is not designed for two. But maybe it’s the strange thrill of being in BLU’s personal space as well as his pants, or the fact that the wind outside is blowing cold enough to freeze a man’s balls off, but Sniper agrees to stay.
The BLU Sniper rubs the back of his neck. “The bed’s, ah.” He gestures to the space above the cab where the mattress is. “Not very big. I can make do on the front seat if you like, seeing as you’re the guest.”
In any other situation the offer would be ridiculous. Sniper’s heart is still hammering from their sexual romp over every other surface of the camper besides the bed. But if the camper van is designed for one, the same goes for the little elevated sleep compartment.
Strictly speaking they haven’t been in bed together yet. Never seem to make it that far.
Sniper claps his hand on the BLU’s shoulder, giving the fresh bite mark there a rub. Blue notices the deliberate placement immediately, if the way his face heats up is any indication.
“Course I’m not sending you to the floor, mate,” Sniper says. “We’ll make it work.”
Turns out fitting into the bed space is the easy part. Blue watches RED Sniper climb up first before pulling himself onto the mattress, hands then knees, hunched over so as to not hit his head on the camper’s ceiling. Sniper reaches out and puts his hand over Blue’s hip, not that Blue needed assistance but Sniper wants to do it anyway. He smirks at the expression of preoccupied absorption on his counterpart’s face as they get situated around each other.
Blue catches him staring. “What?”
“You don’t even concentrate that hard when you’re looking down your scope,” Sniper says. “And I should know.”
That earns a little grudging smile. “This is different.”
And it is. Figuring how to arrange themselves is probably not the time to come to terms with how neither of them are real up-close-and-personal kind of blokes, but they are determined to make it work.
Spooning with the enemy is a completely different matter from having sex with him—though no actual spooning since they both vetoed any back to front configuration.
At first RED Sniper is unsure, and he can feel the tension all through the BLU Sniper as well. They end up slanted towards each other, overlapping. Proximity is the least of it. Elbows and tangled legs and cold toes aside, there are other hidden secrets to fitting that Sniper hadn’t thought of. Like breathing. It feels strange until he notices and tries to coordinate when they inhale, but then they get on the same pattern and that’s almost worse.
Though it is nice, in its way, and pleasantly toasty under the blanket. Prolonged intimate contact just isn’t either of their fortes. It probably isn’t anyone’s when the cuddling involves someone who’s paid to kill you most days from nine to five, not to mention someone you’re paid to kill right back. Where do people usually put their arms and legs when they do this sort of thing?
So for a while they lie in the dark and to all intents and purposes pretend the other doesn’t exist. As a tactic it doesn’t work long.
“Still awake?” Blue says to the ceiling. He actually does sound tired.
“Yeah,” Sniper mumbles against Blue’s collarbone. In a way he finally gives up. Then he reaches across Blue’s chest and passes a hand over his arm in a kind of petting motion. It’s too dark to see much, but he’s noticed the inside of that forearm is rougher than the skin around it. “What about you?” he says while he softly continues his study.
“Still awake,” Blue confirms. He doesn’t ask Sniper to stop, so Sniper doesn’t.
He rubs the underside of Blue’s wrist with his nails and backs of his knuckles, gentle on the tissue and a little fascinated. He wonders if it’s from a childhood of bracer-less practice or just one slipup on a bow with a strong enough draw. Somehow he can’t picture the latter.
“Gotta learn how to shoot somehow,” Blue says, reading his mind. His chuckle is gruff and nostalgic, loud under Sniper’s ear. “Could’ve used a proper wrist guard more, but I guess everyone’s stupid when they’re young.”
Sniper feels Blue’s breathing, steady if not slow yet. Both of them are more relaxed. “Oh, if you want learning experiences you don’t know the half of it.” He hikes his leg over Blue, hooking his ankle around one of his thighs. “Feel that?” he says, grabbing Blue’s hand and running it down his leg, over the scars. “Croc bite, that bugger must have been over four meters long. Shot his bloody brains out right before he dragged me into the river.”
Blue’s fingers squeeze thoughtfully over the nicks in his skin. “Young and stupid, eh?”
“Well, you’d think so from the way my dad tells it.”
He can hear the smirk in Blue’s voice. “I was talking about the croc. You know, I got bit by a sheep once.”
“And where was that?”
“Oh…” Blue says and guides Sniper’s hand around to his side, almost in an embrace. “Must have been back around there somewhere.”
Then Blue’s hand returns to settle on Sniper’s thigh, and Sniper isn’t sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes. He can’t feel anything of note, but that’s to be expected from one of the conniving, resourceful BLUs. Yet after that development they appear to actually be making it work. And Sniper doesn’t move his arm from around Blue’s waist.
He settles for closing his eyes and easing more into this new position instead. “Are there many sheep on stilts where you’re from?”
“Mm,” Blue says, sleepy and noncommittal.
Sniper is comfortable and content to let that one go till morning when he has a thought that makes him sit up—but only slightly, so he doesn’t hit his head on the top of the camper van.
“Blue, why didn’t we just drive me back to the RED base?”
He honestly doesn’t know, and that bothers him. But he wants to know if the BLU Sniper knows. It takes a long time, the air full of that thick quiet sound of thinking. “Suspicious,” Blue says at last, reassured in their fabricated excuse. “Would’ve looked suspicious.”
After a moment Sniper turns back to him, away from the chill outside the blanket. “Too right it would,” he mutters, and they sleep soundly for the next six hours before they have to get up for another day of work.