There's a gun slung on the holster on his hip as he nurses the growing bruise, finding refuge in the dark alleyway others usually stray away from. And then Steve appears. Bitter betrayal sucks, so does getting shot. Steve/Soda Au-ish.
:D Sorry for the lack of slang and accents, I find them really hard to write. And yeah... Everyone is out of character. Sorry.
Hissing, Soda pulled up the gun and aimed it back at Steve, "Fuck no. You can't shoot me. Your team needs me. I'm an asset, aren't I?"
"Actually, no. You are not necessary to our plans," The other man simply smiled and lightly shrugged his shoulders, like every other fucking time he pulled out his gun, "I think there is a word for it, right? Expendable, maybe?"
"Liar." Or Soda hoped it was. It wouldn't have made sense if he really was. Steve could just shoot him and be done with it. But Steve wasn't shooting, so that means he couldn't be shot or injured. But that didn't mean Steve couldn't shoot him somewhere painful. Shit.
This wasn't good. Soda's eyes narrowed, slowly flickering past Steve. The bastard had him caught against a dead end, and was blocking the only way out. Shit.
Steve smiled again. He really needed to stop doing that. The aura he gave off while doing so was inexplicably horrifying, Soda noted blandly. Blandly and extremely out of context with his situation, he smiled ruefully.
"What are you smiling at?" he asked, child-like innocence lacing his voice like arsenic. The bastard.
He let his grin grow, trying to cover the paranoid shaking in his arms, "Just wondering where to shoot first, asshole."
"But Soda! I mean you no harm! We're friends, after all," Soda laughed sardonically at this, disbelief clear on his face.
"Yeah right. Say that again when you don't have a gun pointed straight at me," Steve paused, looking at the gun in his hand.
"Alright."
Soda paused, "Huh? Alright? Alright what?" Steve shrugged again, languidly rolling his shoulders.
"Here, I shall soothe your conscience," Steve tossed his gun carelessly at the ground in front of Soda. He jumped, clearly confused by this. What...? Steve shouldn't be. What-... Now Steve had no weapon! No way to protect himself! No way to hurt Soda! What was going on?
Soda shakily gripped the gun, eyes wide and flashing madly as Steve took several steps closer.
"Stop. Stop. Don't come any closer! I'll shoot!" Soda backed up with each step, closer and closer to the wall behind him. But Steve just kept walking forward, the peaceful smile never leaving his face. Soda scowled, his hands feeling clammier with each step, while Steve just kept holding his hands up, completely unarmed. Completely innocent but he might as well have a fucking tank with him.
Soon Steve was just feet away from him. If Soda leaned forward, he would probably be able to press the gun up against Steve's chest. This... this sent a chill up his spine, but it also made him feel even more paranoid. What was Steve planning?
Three feet, give or take, and Steve was still walking forward with the casual smile. Steve turned around; his hands still up in the air, walking backwards now. What the fuck was Steve doing? Soda swallowed, his mouth feeling very dry. Very, very, very dry. Uncomfortably so. He focused his gaze on the gun where it pressed into Steve's back.
"What are you doing, bastard?" Steve backed up more, until the gun was directly pressing against his back. Soda... Soda could shoot at any moment and Steve couldn't do anything.
"You see this in those mafia movies a lot, right?" Soda swallowed again, nodding although Steve couldn't see him. He didn't really trust himself to talk at this point.
"Well," And the next moment happened so quickly Soda nearly missed it, if not for the sudden pain in his wrist. Steve grabbed both of his wrists, from behind his back, forcefully yanking the gun away.
He sidestepped, pulling Soda under his arms and pressing the other man against his chest. Soda struggled, confused and disoriented, not having realized what just happened, "What you see in those movies? That's fake."
Steve tugged roughly at Soda's arms. He hissed, the pressure on his arms sending painful jolts through his body.
"It is stupid to do something like that, as you see now. It tells your opponent exactly where the gun is." Steve punctuated the emphasis in each of those words with a forceful jerk of his arms. Soda closed his eyes, instantly feeling stupid and naive for falling for something like this. Shit.
Soda froze as Steve's hot breathe hit his ear, "What I mean to say is... Sadly, you are far too inexperienced with matters like this." And then it was gone, and suddenly Steve twisted Soda's body around- oh god what he doing-!
Then Steve's lips crashed against Soda, one arm wrapping around the other's waist, pulling their bodies closer. The other hand breaking what would be a mildly romantic or sexual moment by holding a gun underneath his chin. Steve shoved the gun upwards, making it sharply dig into the underside of Soda's face. Instinctively, Soda yelped. Steve took advantage of that, sliding his tongue inside while the other writhed in confusion.
It was all teeth and tongue and spit and he's whimpering into Steve's mouth but it goes unheard. Unsatisfied with the other's reaction to his invasion of his mouth, Steve pulled back a little. He pushed the gun further into his chin, eyes glinting just a tad demonically, but was all smiles and rainbows other than that.
"I suggest you stop moving, Soda, unless you want a bullet at such a close range-"
This is where Soda honestly panicked, "W-what? Steve! That's against the rules! You can't do that in paintba-"
Steve silenced him with another kiss, slightly pleased at the unsure reciprocation he received. He fully explored the other's mouth before pulling back again.
"Soda, you may be an amazing sniper, but you... what's the term... suck at close-combat paintball fights," Steve pulled the gun away, only to slowly lower to point at more sensitive reigons.
Soda paled. Fuck. Steve wouldn't, would he?
Steve didn't. But he admits that he loved the look on Soda's face when he thought he was. It was cute.
Soda later calls him a sadist.
Steve is glad Soda's a little bit masochistic.
Soda will never admit it aloud.
Except in bed.