Finn worked up his guts again, swallowing down the last of his coffee and braced himself to rise from his chair with determination that he'd built up over the last hour of watching and gaining confidence. He'd spent the last hour listening to the only sound in the room. The soft, labored breathing from between pouted, partly agape lips. Lips that were usually only ever made for spouting off ten thousand insults and directions. Essentially sharp, hazel eyes were shut for the passed sixty minutes, giving the explosives expert the first unfettered long look at the key sniper of the Special Operations Unit he had ever had the pleasure to enjoy. He couldn't help liking Piers. He knew it was wrong. After all, A.T.L. Nivans was in charge. Okay, that might have led to some of it, Finn did like how brave he was; and how... off limits he was... But that didn't make it any less hard to not stammer and stumble over his words whenever Piers turned those enchanting golden flecked eyes his way; full of doubt and discouragement. It didn't matter how many times he was scolded, or the wrong thing came out of his mouth, he couldn't help repeating the stupidity every time because honestly, who could keep their cool when a man like that held you in their cross hairs? And those pillowy velvet lips. Sure, most the time they were spouting off obscenities over how completely useless Finn was, but that was because the agent couldn't function whenever his commanding officer was near. That was why it was such a reprieve to be able to stare at him so prolonged without having his entire team making mockery of it. Blinking his own sea-green eyes as he watched in a dreamy haze over their second-in-command, who grimaced in his sleep once before its deepness took him once again. If anyone else knew, not that he wasn't making it painfully obvious, but if anyone else knew on this team, he would be ridiculed to death. His shame wouldn't be able to be buried within the Venezuela sink hole. And that's if his team mates even allowed him a proper burial after they skinned him alive for displaying any kind of emotion toward another man but camaraderie, that included the A.T.L. as well.
Normally Piers would have given him a thousand reasons with his boot heel to get his ass off that leather padded chair and back into the field, but for the first time since becoming one with Alpha Unit, he couldn't. He didn't know when it started, his crush on the only unattainable man in the unit; but it ever since it seemed he searched for every reason to be beside him. And Piers searched for every reason to boot him from the team. The sniper had been sleeping peacefully on the 'rec' room couch for a great deal of time, though Finn had only been present for one of them. They'd been mid-drill when Piers turned on a heel and feel to his knees, throwing up very nearly on the captain's boots. A short explanation later and an attempt to rejoin his unit got him given only one warning from Captain Chris Redfield that if he didn't go sleep it off in their multi-purpose room then he'd make him eat that vomit. He'd been fine as of 2200 hours last night from what Finn could remember as they left the training facility last night, but according to their captain, the A.T.L. had to his great chagrin, caught the flu. The flu of all things. To bring down a man like that. And yet, not screaming, yelling, or preforming every duty for every soldier until it was right, Piers managed to look soft here. His well muscled arm was propped beneath his head, nestled into the crook of it, with sleepy lids closed comfortably and his legs sprawled out behind him, lounging on his stomach in half his tactical gear. The other half was thrown over the back of the couch, his flak, and uniform regulation top, all the utility belts and rigging. It left him there, splayed out in nothing but an out of place wife beater, that revealed too much of that lean muscled back, and fatigues that refused to hug his hips tight enough and instead had slid downward over the hour to reveal the elastic band of tan boxer briefs. Even his boots had been thrown to the side. It was so uncharacteristically strange to see this usually hardened man so at ease. His soft breaths were still the center of attention to Finn. Soft breathing that hitched whenever his stomach threatened to wake him and he'd roll in on himself, hugging the cushion.
Finn had been working up the courage for over a month to ask Piers just anything. Something simple. Instead stupid things would always come out of his mouth. Stupid things like: "Is he always this cool?" He wasn't even talking about captain Redfield, but he was so damn stricken over having poisonous fingertips near him, close enough to touch him, that he lost all his coordination and said all the wrong things. Or the time that Agent Airhart asked Finn if Piers had a bug up his ass, and Finn answered with, 'Something should be.' Of course his team took it as Finn just joining in, in an awkward, gay way, but it couldn't be further from the truth. At least... the gay part was right; other than that the brunette hated when the rest of the team would talk smack about their trainer. That was one of those things though. Gay. It was off limits. Men in the military, on Alpha team in particular, were NOT allowed to be homosexual. They hada team full of homophobics and A-list assholes. People like Andy Walker and Ben Airhart, who would eat little Finn MacCauley for breakfast if they knew he enjoyed the physicality of their stronger sex to the curvy round... overly soft parts of a woman. Not that Finn hadn't been with a woman before... well no he hadn't, but he knew. Women weren't Piers. His team mates liked to chide him for never having 'popped his cherry' with a hooker. But Finn wasn't like that. He was a virgin, and he was proud to be one. He didn't waste it on someone he knew he wouldn't want to be with. They could make fun all they wanted, he wouldn't be embarrassed over that. Not that he didn't turn crimson at the thought of Piers far more experienced, knowing hands leading him if they were ever going to get that close. There were tons of rumors that got thrown around about that too. That Piers Nivans never went home alone. It was a strange thing to say, considering the second to none sniper, was never seen with anyone but the one eyed lover he shouldered in the field.
But the second issue was even more difficult than that one. It was Piers freaking Nivans! The reason for every sore foot, late night, broken bone, and bruised ego on the team. The man who took the most ridicule and cuss word on the team. Yeah, he sucked it all up and spat it out at every one of them, but that was the point. Forget talking to Piers, let alone dating the man, he couldn't even imagine the implication that would fly with fury throughout the organization if anyone found out he actually had nerve to ask him out. Everyone would talk. Hell if he stared to long at Piers people started riding him. Walker liked to imply that Piers had to be gay because whoever partnered for captain Redfield had to be use to getting a good fuck up the ass. Then there was that whole lewd bet going on through the other teams and their's that Piers was just waiting for one of the boys to take him for a ride to get the stick out of his ass and replace it with something hard and firm. At the moment Andy was betting on himself to be the one to do it. They just liked pressing his buttons, even if Piers didn't give a shit. Finn hated when they talked like that. Seeing Piers like this, it was only obvious that he wasn't the same hard ass all the time. He did that to teach them, even if other people couldn't quite see it. Prepare them for battle. Like this though, he needed someone to take care of him too... sometimes. Maybe? He liked that Piers was so staunch and firm, all that bravery in one person. It was unnatural. He was unnatural. Unnaturally intimidating, and completely captivating.
Taking a huge breath, Finn rested his young face in the palms of his hand, elbows propped against the table top staring at the body that had broken into a cold sweat over the last few minutes. His skin was clammy and that olive hue had turned flush, a dusky red on those smooth cheeks. Gulping, Finn's fingers wound together, imagination taking hold as he considered the possibilities of kneeling beside that couch and pressing a kiss to those silky tiers. It wouldn't be tangled tongues and heated moist mouths coming apart together, or the humidity of Piers' dominating all the corners of his person. Not yet. It would be chaste, like Finn. It would be short and sweet, enough to wake him up, but not enough to cause lust to take auto-pilot. Not enough to spur experienced, well learned hands, to peel layers off skin from his own form, while they rolled up in each other and Finn would miraculously find his way to the bottom; pressed beneath hard and rough muscles and the couch cushions. His own unknowing hands would search and feel out their boundaries, search to feel through the remaining fabric that did little to hide the strength of the man pouring himself into him through their mouths. No, the kisses would be chaste. They would be delicate and feeling each other out. Not some porn video where they go zero to sixty in 2.4 seconds. And Finn would take care of him while he was lying there sick. Even though the indication of illness wasn't present visibly apart from how colored Piers' face was. It was a good color on him, a nice contrast to the warm tan color of his back where he could see goosebumps rise. Most likely from hearing Finn's depraved thoughts about kissing him and enjoying being finally let in.
He gulped again, itching his leg while thinking about how he would phrase it. 'I like you?' No, Piers Nivans would have punched his teeth through the back of his head if he woke him up with a kiss with some lame ass attempt at sputtering, 'I like you.' He needed something better. The wife beater around Piers' torso inched higher yet when he rolled on the couch, until he was lying on his back, arm thrown over his face and revealing perfectly sculpted abdominal muscles. Some trashy ass hole would have said something about those fatigues that kept riding lower. Finn would reach down and tug them up those well formed hips and recover that fine 'V' that teased unjustly down under the edge of those pants. Other people would want to see more, but Finn was okay with taking things slow. Honestly it was puppy love... No. Couldn't use that term either, that would earn him a thousand hours of routine laps and probably never hearing the end of how he was going to 'shorten his leash.' Dang it all, but Piers was so hard to approach. He lived in this own little world where only the elite few were permitted and the blue moon would rise and they would share in a smile. But for people like Finn, even like this, he was still intimidating. It took an hour, but he'd decided already he was going to do this, he wasn't going to talk himself out of it now. It was just a matter of actually saying it. So how would he phrase the words? Piers was so... physical. Words never meant much. He had to show him. That's right! He'd just walk up to him, and kiss him!
Finn lurched from the chair, a proud smile on his face as the entire table shimmied from its spot and the liquids in his cup trembled, but he didn't care. Both hands banging down on the wood surface, the explosives expert shoved back and couldn't help the first measured, powerful step with this new found resolve welling up from the pits of his stomach to brighten his previously worrisome face. Before his world crashed around and Piers' eyes came wide open and he sat straight up, slid off the couch and Finn could hear from the other room as he spent whatever was left in his stomach. The cachophony of the sink running and rinsing out the taste acid from the stomach fluids that did come up passed dry heaving, Piers lingered there for a long while, only ever coming back, and rolling over the backside of the couch, never once noticing Finn before shivering. The groan from that sick battered frame was saddening. He was made a prolonged moan as he settled back into the blue cushions with his back to the rest of the room. He'd hiked up the fatigues in the washroom apparently, but the cotton wife beater was gone now, probably still on the floor of ceramic tiles. Now it was just bare back and hunched in on himself, hugging one knee to quell the tremors of pain. Once they had settled, he sprawled out once more in one roll that presented him face up with that naturally Piers expression of mingled annoyance and unhappiness in those tight knit brows and pursed lips. Finn could see those eyes still closed, huffing over the illness that dared assault his senses. Thin lips worked to toward opening, a meek squeak of a voice all he could manage...
That was until captain Redfield walked in. THUMP! Finn's ass hit the seat again plunking his face into his hands once again while the 'multi-purpose' room filled with the sound of Chris' heavy military boots crossing the room, once again not noticing Finn, (but did anyone?), and sat on the edge of the couch that bowed forgivingly under his weight. "You look like shit parter." Piers griped, but nodded in agreement, the younger explosives expert instantly noting the open relationship those two enjoyed. He hoped the captain respected that way Piers let him right in to that personal space he carried around him or conversation without pretenses. "I sent the boys home. You can ride 'em for it later. Way I see it you aren't getting up again except when I haul your ass home." Finn watched the retort glow in hazel eyes that snapped open upon their captain's choice to send the unit home, and instantly melted seeing that fire. He was such a fighter. "Want me to drive you home partner?"
"ehnnnnn..."
"I'll take that as a yes. Come on." Chris hooked an around around Piers and hoisted him into his feet, the sniper sagged in his arms and slipping his feet into his boots. "We'll get those things later, come on."
And still, neither of them ever once took notice of the solitary boy perched at the table, watching the captain and his second disappear out the door, leaving him alone in the room. Another chance lost... Next time MacCauley... maybe next time.
If this gets more than 5 reviews I'll write more FinnxPiers, otherwise this is a oneshot of oneshots.