Warning! This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. This is me after all, folks. :)
Also! This chapter is rated M for explicit (ish) scenes. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Archer, Toad or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. :)
A note from Sassy: So I was informed by the brilliant VerityA that I needed to write more one shots and work on the prompts people had given me. As a result this gave me the kick up the arse to come up with this one shot, which is a prompt for the incredible duvalia, since if I remember rightly I promised her an Archer PWP. And so here it is. I hope you likes it my dear!
For a point of reference, I like to have faces in mind for all of my 141 boys. As a result Archer's likeness is shamelessly stolen from Eric Bana in Black Hawk Down with the addition of his canon Essex accent. Toad's likeness is based loosely on that of a DJ called Spor. :)
EDIT: For anyone reading my OC series, Caught in the System, this fic can be considered to be a bit of character back story for Archer and Toad or as a stand alone fic. It's up to your own interpretation. :)
He'd discovered that you could learn a lot about a person from lying in tall grass with them.
Archer was, for lack of a better description, a grumpy bastard. The entire task force knew it and allowed for it. He was tall, stocky and well built with thick arms that he was damned proud of. The shading of stubble around his mouth and jaw were as constant as his gruff nature and he seemed to pride himself on being as unapproachable as possible.
In short, he was everything that Toad wasn't.
When he'd first moved up into the task force, he'd instantly despised him. Archer was a 2nd lieutenant, which meant that in his mind he answered to no one except Ghost and Soap, especially not some reckless FNG. In retrospect, Toad hadn't done himself any favours either. He was loud where Archer would choose to say nothing, and this mixed together with a brash, thoughtless nature made the two almost instantly clash. When Mactavish had first paired them up as a sniper team, Toad half expected Archer to instantly raise hell and complain.
He'd been well and truly shaken when the older sniper had said nothing.
"I hear you're experienced." It was the first time Toad could remember him being completely civil, the rough, Essex accent catching him off guard whilst he suited up. He'd didn't turn around and face Archer, instead checking that his body armour was correctly in place.
"I was a designated marksman."
"Hmm." As he turned round he came face to face with Archer, the older man's features crumpled into a slight frown. He crossed his arms across his chest and nodded to him abruptly. "If you're working with me…you're my spotter."
"I can do both."
"I didn't say you couldn't, did I?" Archer raised an irritated eyebrow. "I take the shots until I can trust you. Understand?"
"Sure."
"Good."
The following mission had taught Toad two important lessons. First, his partner was never likely to trust him. Second, Archer never missed.
It was a strange, almost strained partnership to say the least. On mission, they'd speak as little as possible, merely lying in position side by side and doing their jobs to the best of their abilities. On the base, things were even quieter. Archer made no attempt to speak to him unless he had to, and Toad had no desire to make their situation anymore tense. It was bad enough knowing that his partner didn't like him in the slightest without actively giving him even more reason not to.
Unfortunately, no one told his drunken self this.
They'd been given some much needed leave, although it wasn't long enough for most of them to return home. Instead a group of the younger guys had ventured into the nearby town for a bar crawl, spending their night in every bar the place had to offer. It had reminded Toad of back home with his friends, on those cold winter nights where they'd go out in search of the clubbing Holy Grail; decent music and half drunk girls all in the same place. The effects of the night were much the same too as they staggered home, Toad half supporting Roach next to him whilst at the same time managing to support himself on the sergeant as well.
"SHHHHHH!" The sniper hissed as they edged into the barracks, his hand covering his mouth and attempting to muffle the laugh that followed. Roach did the same, losing his grip on the other man and falling against the wall.
"We're never doing this again…"
"Speak for yourself." Toad was feeling his way along the wall by now, his right palm in constant contact with the plaster as he edged down the barracks corridor. They came to Roach's room first, and the sergeant noisily let himself in, practically tumbling through the door.
"I'll see you in the morning…"
"Yeah…you need me to tuck you in?" Even when intoxicated sarcasm naturally dripped from his voice.
"Fuck you, mate." Was the only response that greeted him as Gary slammed his door. Hard. The loud noise made Toad flinch and he stepped backwards hastily, his body half leaning against the wall. The world seemed to be spinning more than normal and he blinked hard. His right hand fumbled up to rub at his eyes and he stumbled to his right blindly, his feet tripping over each other.
Seemingly out of nowhere, something was in his way. Colliding with it caused him to stagger further and Toad prepared himself for a fall that never came, his body seemingly suspended in mid air. He looked down to his arms where two hands were gripping them tight, the pressure of their thumbs pinching into his skin through his shirt.
"What the fuck?" Archer hissed from above him and with a firm pull Toad was standing upright again, his eyes struggling to focus on the older sniper's angry features.
"Thanks." A smirk worked its way across his mouth.
"Could you be any louder?"
"Wasn't me…was Roach…" He waved his hand in the vague direction of the sergeant's closed door.
"Really?" Archer raised a pissed, unconvinced eyebrow, his hands pulling away from Toad's body and allowing it to sway in front of him. "You should be in bed."
"Was working on it." Toad shrugged. "You got in the way."
"Some fucking gratitude." Archer rolled his eyes bitterly, a firm hand grabbing Toad by the elbow and practically tugging him after him. "Just come on…"
He managed to keep his footing just long enough to stumble the short way down the corridor to his room, Archer pushing him into the darkness after he'd unlocked the door. The change in lighting disorientated him further and Toad fumbled forwards, reaching out for his bed. His bedside lamp flickered on just as he sat down and he blinked hard, his eyes adjusting to where Archer was stood in front of him. His khaki shirt was crumpled, as if it had just been thrown on, hanging open all the way down to his waist, the visible skin littered with scars and markings and more tanned than he might have first expected. The weary, exasperated look in his eyes told Toad that Archer had most likely been roused by his return to the barracks, but in his drunken haze he didn't really care.
"How much did you drink?"
"Who said I drank?" Toad replied with a laugh.
"You fucking stink of it." The older sniper rolled his eyes. He looked at him for a second longer, before stalking out quickly. Toad laughed again, already guessing that Archer had become exasperated with him and decided to leave him to it. He reached up to his collar and began to unbutton his shirt, clumsy fingers getting about halfway before Archer returned, this time with a pint glass of water in his hand. He sat down awkwardly beside Toad on the bed, handing it to him slowly. "Drink it."
"Who are you? My mother?" Toad looked at the water with a clear distaste.
"I'm far worse than that. Just do it."
"You're always giving me orders…"
"Because I know better." If he hadn't been drunk Toad would have been astounded by the small smile that seemed to grace Archer's features, a rare and alien sight. Instead he merely swayed a little more, his hand twitching and sloshing water over the rim of the pint glass onto both their legs. "Fucking watch it!"
"You can go…" Taking a reluctant sip of his water, Toad waved his hand dismissively at the other man. "I don't need a babysitter."
"Really?" The words earned him another cocked eyebrow and Archer shook his head. "I want to see you drink more of that before I go."
"And why do you care?"
"Who said I did?"
"Still here aren't you?" Toad slurred, watching him over the top of his drink. "Why?"
"Because we're partners." Archer shrugged.
"Even if I annoy you?"
"You don't annoy me."
"You act like I do."
"I act like that with everyone." Archer rolled his eyes. "What makes you think you're so special?"
"Nothing." He'd look back on the exchange with extreme confusion when he was sober, but for now Toad was content to question nothing, choosing instead to down a sizeable portion of the water, holding the glass out for the other man to see. "Can I sleep now?"
"I guess." Archer stood, almost reluctantly, taking the glass from him and putting it beside his bed. "But you'll be needing this in the morning."
"Whatever."
"Fine…don't believe me." The older sniper rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, his face returning to the by now almost familiar expression of despair and reluctance. He took a step towards Toad and in a swift move pressed a firm hand against his forehead, pushing his disorientated body backwards onto the bed with ease. A brief, amused chuckle escaped his mouth and he made his way from the room. "Just get some fucking sleep."
After that night, things seemed to improve. Toad's memories of it were hazy and dulled, but he knew enough to realise that he was projecting at least a little of his own insecurities onto Archer, misreading his unwillingness to give anything about himself away as a distaste towards him. As a result, Toad felt a little freer, more able to confront Archer and take more responsibility. He started acting like a real partner more than a subordinate, and in time Archer finally seemed to grow to trust him. They even began to spend time together outside of missions, although Archer would always be as reluctant to speak as usual.
After six months of operations, Archer finally made good on his words. As they suited up in the armoury, he handed his rifle of choice, the M14 EBR over to Toad with a soft nod, shouldering an assault rifle himself. No words needed to be said. Archer was simply handing over his last bit of power in their partnership and silently agreeing to be the spotter. To anyone else, the gesture would have been small. To Toad? He felt as if he'd just been handed another promotion.
"We have a man down. I repeat a man down. Bishop is down. Ghost! What's his status?"
"He's gone, sir. KIA."
No one had seen it coming, not even the sniper team as they sat on the ridge, overlooking the small hamlet below. A mortar out of nowhere. Bishop had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, killed instantly. There'd been no time to mourn as Archer had spotted the silhouettes of the mortar crew on the horizon, Toad quickly shifting his scope to their position. Four shots and they'd been dead, but it was already too late.
Everyone had been silent on their return to base. The mission had been a success in the end, but the loss of one of their men had been a bitter pill for them to swallow. Bishop, a man so named ironically because of vocal atheism had been one of the task force's first members, a capable soldier with a dark sense of humour. His death had been out of his hands, and as a result it felt unfair, harder to take than if he'd simply been cut down my machine gun fire. No one spoke about it, they didn't need to. Deep down they all knew they were feeling the exact same thing.
"Fuck off, Toad." Archer practically snarled as he stormed into his room, the younger sniper following him closely. His partner was never one to say much, but there was something in his manner that was harder, more brutal, a bigger front than usual to try and keep him out. Toad decided however to persist, hovering in the doorway and waiting for Archer to turn around and face him.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it?" The older man let out a dark, sarcastic laugh. "Thanks, mate. Suddenly I feel so much better."
"I was there too, right? We all were…" Toad rolled his eyes, watching as Archer finally turned around to face him. The anger in the other man's face was unlike anything he'd seen before, acute and almost painful to look at. "Why aren't you blaming everyone?"
"I should have seen them."
"You did."
"Yeah…too fucking late." Archer shrugged, his fists clenched into tight balls. His eyes were watery, almost as if the tears themselves were filled with pure frustration and remorse. "What good did that do Bishop?"
"You can't think like that."
"You're quick to give me orders." He scoffed, although the action had a darker, bitter quality. Three short strides were all it took to put him face to face with Toad, hot breath a sudden presence against his face as they stood mere inches apart. "Go on then…tell me why."
"You just can't." Toad shook his head defiantly, determined not to give in. "We all know the risks."
"And what fucking difference does that make? I still let him down didn't I? No matter how much you stand there and try and dress it up."
"Do you really think he'd appreciate all this?" It was the last straw he had to grasp at and Toad clung on to it with all his might, his voice deliberately confrontational. "Is all this mouthing off really what Bishop would have wanted?"
"You shut the fuck up…now." A shove caught him off guard and Toad stumbled backwards, his eyes wide. Archer was quick to stalk after him, a vicious tone ever present in his voice. "Bishop was my friend…we joined this task force together. Don't you even try and get into his head."
"I'm trying to make you see sense!"
"Sense?" The older sniper rolled his eyes, a dark laugh practically exploding from his lips. "We live in a world where objectives mean more than human life. Since when did any of that make sense?"
"So he died for nothing?" Toad shook his head. "And that's better?"
"Shut up…"
"Why? Because I'm right?" The younger sniper took a step closer, his arms held out wide. "I'm not backing down to you…"
"Fuck this." Slowly, decisively, Archer turned his back, shoulders heaving with pent up anger. "Just leave."
"So you're going to shut me out instead? Is this what you do when things get difficult?"
"I don't answer to you."
"You're still my partner."
"For now…" Archer replied bluntly, his back still turned.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"What I said." He shrugged, turning round just enough to catch Toad's gaze. "You're just my spotter. I can easily replace you."
Archer knew him better than he credited him for, the words fulfilling their purpose and hitting him hard, Toad mentally reeling. He wanted to fight back, but suddenly there seemed little point, hurt and exasperation proving to be a potent cocktail in his mind. Suddenly arguably felt undeniably pointless and Toad quickly withdrew. Even he didn't have unlimited patience, not even when it came to his partner.
His body was tense, tight with knots and stress, wounded pride and frustration seemingly making his every muscle rigid and uncomfortable. A good dose of vodka helped, glugged down in haste and warming his insides as Toad disposed of his dusty, worn combat attire, throwing it carelessly into a pile on the floor. Fully undressed now he took the bottle with him into the bathroom, pouring more of the numbing liquid down his throat whilst he turned on the shower, a hot cascade of water suddenly descending on top of his taut body. Another swig and the bottle was balanced over by the sink, Toad content to just let his head hang underneath the water, the rush of water like white noise assaulting his eardrums.
He wasn't aware of how long he'd been stood there, lost within his own mind, but by the crinkling of his skin it had obviously been a while. And yet he made no move to wash himself, simply remaining still, his body cocooned by the cone of water leaving the showerhead. It was as close to not thinking as he could physically get.
If he'd been more aware of his surroundings, he would have heard the chink of a belt buckle being forced undone, the heavy rustle as clothes fell to the floor. He would have surely noticed his bottle of vodka being moved from the sink, the glass chinking as it was hastily lifted up to eager lips. As it was, Toad heard and saw nothing, his eyes buried firmly into the white tiled floor in front of him.
A hand appeared on his right shoulder, calloused, rough and oddly dry. Toad jumped, although he didn't for a second question who it belonged to as that much was blatantly obvious. He froze beneath the touch, neither moving into it nor moving away, his eyes wide and expectant for Archer's next move. For a moment there was none, and the tension around them felt like it would last an age. Then, the grip of the hand tightened. A testing, yet dominant mouth moved forwards, taking possession of the skin on his left shoulder. The action was tentative at first, uncharacteristically soft, gone almost instantly as if asking a silent question. Toad said and did nothing. The mouth returned, this time more confident, harder, lips sucking and teeth grating almost painfully against the wet skin they found there. There was no denying the soft hiss that escaped Toad's lips.
"I'm not gay." He wasn't sure where the words came from, but they were spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them, the mouth still working on his shoulder suddenly freezing, pulling back.
"Neither am I." Archer replied, his voice dry and hoarse.
"Then what are we doing?"
"I don't know." It was a confusing, yet honest answer and Toad would have probably rolled his eyes if a hand hadn't snaked around his body, drawing a very deliberate, bordering on hurtful scratch down his torso. There was another pause and Toad was unsure as to whether he should pull away. "But I just need…something."
"Something?"
"Yeah…" As if to illustrate his point, the hand pulled harder against Toad's skin and an almost involuntary groan forced its way out of his body. But the hand didn't stop there, moving slowly so that in a single, fluid motion it took hold of his cock. It was a knowing, almost calculated gesture as the hand began to set a slow, steady pace. A moan slipped past Toad's lips and his body relaxed, the body behind him suddenly less like Archer and simply a source of tension release. He closed his eyes, choosing instead to simply revel in the contact.
Archer humoured him for a while, until he became too tense himself, spinning the younger sniper around with a rough growl. Toad's back was pushed hard against the cold tiles, Archer's hand still wrapped around him, his pace slower now, almost expectant. It didn't take him too long to get the idea and soon he was reciprocating, mimicking the other man's pace as much as possible, the instant relaxation in Archer's features almost unnerving. The speed of their hands began to build, Toad's body arching against the tiles, his head pushing back against the wall. Archer slouched forwards, his head hanging, dropping down so that it was resting on his partner's shoulder. They never once made an attempt to kiss, never even looked at each other, both lost in their own pursuit for some form of release.
The noise of running water masked their groans as they both tensed, shudders running through the length of their bodies. For a moment, neither moved, Toad pinned still between Archer and the wall, the older man's head still resting limply against his shoulder. Slowly, Archer lifted his head, lips fleetingly catching against Toad's skin. The younger sniper was unsure as to whether it was a kiss or merely an accident.
It wasn't awkward, but it was silent as Archer stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel and beginning to dry himself off. Toad opted to stay beneath the water as the other man dressed, watching him through the glass screen as he gathered up his boots and quickly left. Toad was hardly surprised by his reluctance to speak. There was nothing worthwhile for either of them to say at that point.
Later, dry and clothed, they were both sat in the rec room, downing more vodka and playing a half arsed game of poker, something that they had taken to doing most nights when they weren't on operations. They didn't speak aside from the occasional smirk and sarcastic remark. Both seemed to be more than content not to speak of what had happened earlier.
As he watched Archer over the top of his fanned out cards, Toad suspected that they would never talk about it, not properly at least. He was unsure as to whether it would happen again, or even if he wanted it to or not. But that didn't matter. After all, nothing was certain in the 141. Why should this be any different?
He was sure of one thing though; no matter what anyone said, he now knew his partner better than anyone else on the base. They were partners yes, but Toad had come to realise something more than that. They might never be sexual ever again, but they were still a team. Even with their sniper rifles locked up in the armoury, Archer remained his best friend. Again, it was left unsaid, but with Archer, so were most things…
So, random pairing, random one shot, but hey, I like to mix it up. :) Again, thanks have to go to the lovely duvalia for the prompt! And naturally to you for reading! You know that if you feel like reviewing I shall just sit here and grin. :D
-x-Sass-x-