Chapter: 2/30
Word Count: 620
Pairings: BLU Sniper/BLU Scout
Characters: Richie Harrison (BLU Sniper), Weylon Jones (BLU Scout)
Warnings: Nudity, Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Kissing, Flirting, Bad Puns
Chapter Summary: 002. Nature. Outside had never scared Weylon; he was a baseball star up until he signed up with Builders League United. But there was something about camping with Richie that made him uncertain that this was anything less than the wilderness.

AN: Alright, so I'm doing good so far. oUo Doing what I'm supposed to for my list of things to do every day. Already did my warm-up, gonna do the drabble and one-shot, then maybe eat some breakfast. I will, hopefully, be able to post things as I finish them, but if not, then I'll post them all together once I finish it all. oUo Enjoy, guys!

Chapter Two: Roughing It

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"Thought ya said ya loved tha outdoors, Roo." The purr was soft in the batter's ear, but he didn't dare uncover more of himself for fear of exposure. Blankets wrapped around him until he was a grumpy burrito, Weylon pouted as he finally uncovered his face a little and turned fiery blue eyes on the other.

"I said 'tha outdoors', man, not the fuckin' wasteland." With an accusatory glare, he huffed and rolled back over to try and ignore the other, the elder man simply standing and shrugging. The camper was fairly clean, considering the temper tantrum it had had to contain earlier that morning, and now that the sun was rising higher in the sky, well, it was turning into a dry sauna.

"Suit yerself, sweetling," Richie told him, shoving his hands into his pocket, "Guess I'll eat all the Tim Tams m'self, then." It only took five steps from the bed to the door, but before he even made it, hands were tugging at his wrists and the boy (he hardly acted 22) tumbled out of bed in his underwear and one thigh-high sock.

"No, man, don't fuckin' do that!" There was a plea in his voice that only made the elder man chuckle, shaking his head. "Fine, fine, I'll come out. Just don't fuckin' eat 'em all, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll save ya a couple." Winking, he pushed the Bostonian to his knees on the floor, giving him a considering smirk, before finally waggling his eyebrows, "It's about lunchtime, Roo. Why don'tcha get dressed and come help me with it?" Somehow, he managed to weasel out of the other's grip, leaving the blonde with his knees pressed to the somewhat clean tile of the camper floor. Reclining back with his ass on his ankles, he considered 'getting dressed' before deciding on a particular outfit that guaranteed lots of sideways glances.

As predicted, the obscenely small running shorts earned him a double-take (though it might have been the almost offensively bright yellow color of them), and those eyes, trying to be sneaky beneath tinted glasses, raked over the thigh-high socks clinging to those sculpted legs. The 'Muscle Man' tank top only earned him a soft snort, and the switch from the usual black cap to the Red Sox one seemed to only make his mismatched clothes look that much more odd.

"Didn' realize it was Halloween, sweetling." The incredulous look, coupled with a solid punch to his shoulder, was all Richie earned in response for that one.

"Whaddya wanna make fer lunch?" Groused the Bostonian, crossing his arms and glaring at the large, roaring fire settled just far away from the camper to not be concerning. Sensing that he'd need to do some damage control to keep it there, the elder slid up behind the other, delivering disarming kisses to his neck and shoulders, nuzzling his nose against a spot in the middle of his shoulderblades that had the smaller gasping.

"Had been thinkin' 'bout some barbeque." He mumbled against the soft spot behind Weylon's ear, the shiver he earned pulling a smile onto his lips, "But my gut tells me I'd be wasting an opportunity if I didn't sample some, ah…" His next words were a stretch he wasn't sure would be appreciated, but he might as well try, "Real American beef." Laughter on said beef's part quickly devolved into a moan as lips fastened to that button at the connection of neck and shoulder, and he offered a smirk so thick it was apparent in his voice.

"Bad pun. But yeah," He gulped a little thickly, trying to ignore the fire burning in his belly, "Sounds good. Don't wanna tell yer instincts ta fuck off."

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AN: I may or may not have an addiction to bad puns, okay? I couldn't possibly resist. xD At any rate, Richie likes it when Weylon laughs. It's a bit headcanoned that he doesn't laugh genuinely enough, so any one that Richie gets out of him is like a golden ticket.