Thanks to those of you who waited for the next chapter of this! Sorry i've been slacking on some things. I did a few oneshots and then decided to finish Jealousy so that I could work on the things that require my attention, however! Those of you reviewers who poke me into action deserve an applause. It keeps my inspiration going and reminds me what I should be working on next. Enjoy!
Leading Finn tripping to the door; Piers whistled down the nearest cabbie two fingers slipping into his mouth as he called for him. Peeling back the door the sniper tucked the youngest member of Alpha inside and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You did good today Finn, don't feel obligated to chase drinks with Andy next time, but you did good in the field. I'll see you in a few days, go sleep it off." Paying the driving with an overly abundant tip, and explicit instructions to get his young rookie back in one piece, the street address was relinquished; Finn never got the chance to make an ass out of himself. Two thumps on the roof of the cab, and the sniper was back inside the thundering bar, windows and outside buzzing, inside blaring. Rather than rejoining the team immediately he let hazel eyes trail from his fellow soldiers, Andy drinking Carl under the table, to the two captains stoically talking in the corner, a pile of drinks in front of both and taking his pick as he eyed Chris. "Captain." Both looked up, but it was Redfield the sniper was addressing whilst he sat without orders, slipping into the booth beside the brunette. Their legs brushed together under the table while one hand trailed unnoticed over that hugely muscled thigh, heating his finger tips. They'd been together for almost a year, but not a person knew it. No one in their team wouldn't have put it passed them, but no one expected it either. Piers came off as the type, he read like an open book that way, but he also came of as an immense hard ass, even on their captain which made them incompatible that way. Chris didn't take shit, including the kind of 'straight and narrow' Piers forced him down. They were completely professional in the field, and even moments like this were rare, thumbing one of Chris' empty glasses with his spare hand, rubbing circles with the other. Chris wouldn't call it dating, neither would Piers. They didn't go anywhere together. They weren't the lovey type that wanted someone to go to the movies with, or enamor themselves with, or someone to take to dinner and fawn over dresses with. They were soldiers. That didn't mean though at the end of the day, sober as the moment he was born, that the A.T.L. of Alpha team didn't want to get his point across when he wanted attention, hand grazing the inside of his captain's well muscled thigh teasingly, right across from a captain who had just joined there team seemingly unaware. There had been a long mission earlier, one that had taken almost a week in the trenches to accomplish. One that left them all weary and ready to relax. Or in Piers case, it had left him seeking the man who he admired for the rush of being alive.
"Yeah." Chris snickered, the hand on his leg drawing little attention from those around him thanks to his partner's discretion, but he couldn't help the twinge of want that bubbled through the vodka, shifting position intentionally to get the message across; until their thighs were flush together and nimble quick fingers were slipped between his legs, beneath the lip of the table. "He's taken..." Chris rumbled the words, gathering up his next drink, and ignoring the way Piers was looking at him that way he had, annoyance mixed and shaken with the hint of amusement, all playing together while his fingertips teased the fabric between Chris' legs, methodically working him toward distraction. His partner ignoring that he'd walked in on a conversation mid-way, not caring as his hand traced the outline of Chris' growing erection. "Nivans has a girlfriend." Those roughly massaging fingers halted instantly, Chris reaching down less than noticeably to hold them in place grinding just the slightest against his hand, ignoring the look on his partner's face while Chris' hand tightened around his wrist to something more painful. Chris didn't give a shit what people though about them, particularly when he was drunk. Over all he didn't mind playing along, but that was on the field. Here and now he wanted something more. The something when Chris use to play along with his sniper and they'd make up excuses to leave with one another and spend the night. It was never loving. Piers didn't expect loving. Honestly, sex with Chris, his relationship with Chris had always been the same. He dominated Piers. They'd get halfway in the door, slam it shut and Chris would never let them get to the bedroom. Whatever surface was good enough to throw his partner up against. Now however it had turned into just sex. There was no relationship anymore and it was starting to grate the nerves. Coaxing those fingers to continue even though it was clear Piers didn't want to after discovering the conversation had been about himself , about a girl who didn't exist. And the fact that Chris was never willing to take the leap and say something other than that little line, or just dropping the subject. Now a days Chris didn't pay any attention to him whatsoever... Unless it was the once in a while booty call where Chris called him up after too many vodkas. Luka didn't miss the narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Piers read easily, where Chris read like a drunk.
After their conversation over the coms, Luka hadn't spent any time with the sniper outside of missions, and even then the only time he spoke with him was over the coms. Cooing little remarks about the competency of the man who was sitting across from them, hazel eyes transfixed on his captain, who wouldn't look him in the eye. It didn't take a lot to figure out what was going on after that little performance at the fountain, and the tiny dropped hints. Piers had a relationship alright. A one sided relationship with the B.S.A.A.'s finest, and not a person in their S.O.U. gave him what he wanted. It was no wonder he pulled away from them so sharply after missions. Yet for reasons unknown he still subjected himself to their captain, who had the singular talent, of calming those sharp features, or making him into a ball of fury. Like he was now, glaring at Chris as though the vodka was muting how pissed he was at his captain for saying what he had. Though why, Luka couldn't quite say just yet. Just that the sniper had had enough. That much was clear. "She is a very lucky woman indeed captain." Gauging responses carefully through icy cold eyes, each swallow and breath went measured through those intuitive irises. Perfect symbols as that clenched jaw and disquieted expression mutated to upset on Piers part, a single jerk of the body freeing him of both the table and his captain's grip. It was a fairly strong motion considering it was just sliding from the booth, and yet his jacket was in his hand immediately, and Luka saw the quick covered hurt. "You are leaving agent?"
"I'm not in the drinking mood."
"You never are." Chris sneered the last line, not bothering to look at his A.T.L. while seating a crystalline glass on his lower lip and tipping back his next whiskey. "Loosen up Nivans. Go find a cheap woman and fuck her. Get it out of your system so you can stop trying to play mommy for the rest of my team."
"Is that what you plan on doing captain? Loosening yourself up by finding some random hooker?"
They were biting the words at each other, but it was clearly not the first time they'd had this little scuffle, Luka's brow furrowing as lips curled back over white canines, and their mutual captain snarled. "Maybe." Piers scoffed, pulling his jacket over his lithe frame until it was situated comfortably and turned away, shaking his head. "Why, are you offering Nivans?" The mid-step halt, rubber soles statue stiff as the words left Chris' mouth, the only sign he was even a person anymore the almost silent growl Luka heard. And then he was gone. The door of the bar slammed so hard behind him it nearly came off the hidges, while Chris never turned to look back at him only continued to 'enjoy' his whiskey, snapping his fingers for another. The blond stared for a long while... perhaps a full minute before rising from the booth with his own jacket. "Don't bother going after him. He's a ghost." Amber fluids sloshed to and fro in their vessel, swimming free a cube a clear glittering diamond until it was drowned to the back of an already drunk man's gullet.
The implication that Piers was a whore was no doubt what made him vanish, but Luka was fairly good at finding people, and Piers didn't have a car. He lived around here. He'd discovered that little piece of information when Chris had mentioned a designated diver needed a car. On foot, with longer legs Luka found him easy. He wasn't trying to be a ghost, but he did walk close to the wall and with enough of a stride that it took him fast and far from the bar in that single minute Luka had waited to follow him. He hadn't expected it, but with that side comment about Piers needing to loosen up, combined with the fact that they were always by each other's side. It made it clear what had transpired there. No wonder the sniper always defended his captain, when his captain was also his lover. One that clearly didn't give a rat's ass if he just called one of the sharpest men he'd ever met, a whore. It made perfect sense. Why the sniper was constantly so persistent that he was taken but couldn't say who. Relationships within the program weren't permitted. Combine that with the fact that their team was comprised of men who served with a certain amount of surety that their team was made of men who were bonded by brotherhood. The whole team would look differently at both of them if they knew the truth. Piers was their A.T.L. He required respect to drive these men and he'd never have it if they knew he was in a relationship with their captain. Both of them would instantly loose everything. Still... Luka hadn't expected it in the least. With the sniper's disdain for booze, and disrespect, Captain Redfield seemed like a perfect candidate for him to put in the prime examples of men who didn't deserve that exotic tiger.
Spotting the back of sun faded leather, Luka took note of the perfect posture. Even frustrated and walking in the dead of night down the city streets, Piers managed to hold himself in higher regard. Just like him. Faintly smiling in a rueful way that pulled his lips across his pale profile. Angled features even more white in the off lit street sides. Long, lean legs taking him right up beside the sniper. It was clear he'd noticed him. Casting shadows on the brick wall side them, longer limbs stretched and distorted with each step, the Russian moved along side him in synchronization for some time, no words spoken between them. The body language was discussion enough. The jacket that covered the sniper's body was short in the sleeve intentionally, only three quarters like the rest of his shirts. His nimble hands and finger tips were delved deep in the pockets, clenched in tight fists judging by the lump in the material, with the slight hunch of his shoulders that others wouldn't have even marked. He was upset, but this wasn't uncommon. This pace, stance, and familiarity with the walk informed the Russian his object of affection had walked this route many times. And after a long while of standing side by side in metronome walk, heel-toe for almost a mile, that musical voice greeted the bated air. "Headed home Lucky?"
"Not exactly Printsessa. My home is much to far for us to walk. Provided that is, one can walk across an ocean."
"Heh..."
Piers never looked up from the slight downcast, reading the ground and gravel like signs in the battle field as they walked even though at least now the lines of communication had been broached. "You deserved better than-
"Don't start Lucky. Not now."
They were quiet again, Luka taking the hint from Piers even though after a few more seconds of unsettled breathing the sniper was finally relaxing, letting his hands slip from their caverns and hanging to those slim sides. Counting the rungs in a ladder of the fire escape they passed under on their route. He knew the answer from having crossed it before, but it was ritual. Sniper's thrived on ritual. He let him continue, reading him and absorbing the tiny details of this moment. Piers recovered well from such things, far easier than a man in his position should have, unless this was a regular thing for them. The captain had no idea what he was doing... Luka however, he understood very plain and simple. Chris didn't deserve those devoted stares and strong backup he had with this man. And where as he might have kept distance before now in order to at leas follow a certain protocol when perusing the younger brunette, procedure was out the window the moment Chris opened his mouth. "Your friends are rather blind to have thought that rifle you carry is your lover..."
"Luka."
The tone was dangerous, but the Russian continued on, no fear of it broaching topics that Piers would not be opened to discuss. He would leave his drunken captain for another time. This was about them, he wouldn't pass the bridge until they came to it. For now though, there was a very small window, one he intended to take full advantage of. "No, certainly not a lover. The way you caress it... That is, self adulation. It clearly is no woman the way you stroke it." The moment that Chris was no longer the destination of this conversation, Piers person immediately relaxed on the spot, visibly more confident as they moved.
"You're examining how I stroke my rifle now Lucky? I hope you got a good look, because its the only thing you're ever going to see get stroked."
"Really? Here I had hoped for this night to go in my favor." He laughed with the light musical hum of the man beside him, watching his expression carefully with a cant head and healthy peripherals, watching for that curl of the lips that came whenever he distracted Piers' imagination. It was a simple game, but the hardest he'd ever played to the day. "Do you know why I asked you for your favorite color, assistant team leader?"
"Because when you started stalking me you couldn't find my kindergarten records?"
"Because it tells me more about you, more than questions like your own. I was raised in the intelligence community agent Nivans. We extract more information purely on what you don't say than what you care to divulge. Such as... khaki."
"Alright Russian... you have three miles to impress me. Get anything wrong though and you're getting a cab and leaving me to walk in peace."
"I do love a challenge agent... I would be more than pleased. I shall begin." Luka blew just the slightest air he could see exhaled from his lungs, walking through it as their pace quickened just the slightest whist passing the busy side streets of Main and Cross. Roads that led to the most watering holes for those camels who felt the urge to bulldoze through several pints of beer. However, not the kind of place one might find a soldier. A blaring horn took over for the buzz of engines, and a roaring mustang when it came careening through and off again into the darkness leaving taillights to watch in the distance. Or rather, watch his subject, watch. No... now wasn't time for games, it was for brutal honesty, the best kind, and the only kind that Luka was good at. "he color means more than anything you would recognize. A first look when men look at you..., they do not see who you are. They see a soldier. You intentionally have made it this way by putting yourself in such things. Khaki. You do not care for favorite color. Such things are not useful in duty, however... it is the color you wear the most frequently. Because of that very thing. It buries you." He heard Piers breathing, the way it hitched and pulled, the maintained silence while his jaw clenched and a moist tongue flicked out to wet the lower tier, dry form the night air. Brows knit in a kind of confusion that meant for his observer to continue, elaborate on him. "You have, brilliantly sharp eyes agent Nivans. And yet no man on your team notes that those hazel eyes they enjoy so much are not so much a hazel as they are brown, flecked with gold. They do not notice... because you draw attention away from the color by wearing similar such things. You do not wish to stand out, but blend. That is, it works truly well, however I still see the spark of fire behind your eyes..."
"Stay on topic Lucky. Khaki. What else does it... 'say' about me."
Nodding visibly, the Russian took in a deep breath that filled the lungs, cracking one knuckle, then the next until he had completed and they stopped short at the next light. Piers was refusing to look at him, but it didn't hide the perfect way light danced off his eyes, or how those sarcastic eyes flicked to observe him whilst the don't walk sign flagged those oncoming passersby. Luka took the opportunity to flash him a smile, not one that was overly corny, nothing wide and unbelievable. Just a small thing, one that showed no teeth, but brought some motion to his own features. That patented thin lipped one, while pushing back locks of blond hair, with his palm once over. "It says you are not looking for a woman." The statement drew narrowed eyes wide, head snapping to the side and staring Luka down as though he could cause Luka to dematerializing right in front of him with that exacting gaze, that hedged no comedic notion. "No man who has an interest in women, calls brown... khaki. Most soldiers, I have observed..., hardly know the term what so ever." The light changed, and Piers didn't continue their walk, merely stared all the longer, that strong jaw clenched uncomfortably. "It is a sign of your attention to detail as well. You do not wish to simply name something its most broad term, but something more definitive. You are precise in all you do." Luka's words may have seemed those that might have wanted to cover up his prior statement, but his tone spared nothing. It was explanation rather than cover up. As though perhaps his precision evolved into his choice in men as well, though the added comment only served to make their stand off all the more uncomfortable, that was until Piers spoke.
"So I'm immaculately gay?" Humor danced finally behind the tone, but his eyes still said something uncomfortable. A light chuckle and he was walking again, shaking his head. Two miles to go, one shaking his head at the other whofinally smiled again once Piers had proved he held no discord from being called out on the reality behind what he was. There was no sun, and in the city, no stars either, but it was still easy to see the dark gloom overhead. It was over cast, thunderous clouds rolling in and as though on cue as long stride brought the taller, broad man up beside the sniper, the sky opened up and weeping huge drops in only a matter of seconds. It didn't seem to phase their walk though, not with Piers. His shoulders hunched just a bit to fight the cold, and continued on, even when the down pour muffled the sound of his voice, with the sound instead of drops hitting the pavement. "What else does khaki say about me, hm Luka?"
The Russian, smiled and noted how Piers was watching it, eyes transfixed on him. Not brief like the other times, but was examining him while they walked, watching Luka's thinner lips move as he sucked in each breath. And how his lashes blinked successively whenever Piers brought his eyes up from that mouth. "It says... you do not like being social. That you prefer to be alone." There was a short nod, that brought Luka's attention from those startling eyes, to the water running in little rivulets down his jawline. They were drenched in a matter of minutes. One in uniform, and the other in half his regulars. Luka was in complete uniform dress, as he was every day when he spent time with the Alpha unit he had been assigned. Piers was wearing that charcoal grey leather that made the pitter patter of rain drops more obvious, with the collar upturned to hid his neck. That did not go unnoticed. Piers hid his neck all the time, with his scarf or jacket collar, either way so that no one could see it, like a protective coating. Still the drops sliding down his youthful features and down to just the top edge of his neck made Luka was to latch his mouth onto that warm flesh and bite him. Suck on his throat until he left behind a lovely mark on that naturally olive skin. He was soaked through and the same was said of Luka, water coating his features, but it would make it so easy to slickly slide his mouth over that skin and suck while the rain drops drowned out, a no doubt throaty hum.
Shaking his head the soldier tore his focus from that tan savory idea back to that which he could see. Since he had heard Airhart's confession the last day about Piers' rifle being the lover that Luka had been so wary not to offend, his imagination had run away with him completely. Another reason for his silence whenever they were together. He wasn't 'shy' or 'concerned,' he was trying to figure out how to use that information to his benefit without thinking of the many ways he could coat that skin with his own sweat and saliva. Luka was not one to pretend however, and let his mind travel where it would, from that smooth neck he could only imagine, to observing the way the rain made the signature flip in short strands come down and the hairs drooped just over Piers' perfect brows. His words never ceased however, because now it was proving his prowess, even as he thought of taking a handful of those locks while Piers put those sinful lips about him. "Khaki tells me you like the rain, because you are grounded." Without permission, the older soldier, reached forward with long fingers, calloused pads pushing the strands that fell back just as he did to hand on both, on Piers, and in his own hair, pushing it back as water clung to it and held it in place, leaking drops down the sides of his face.
Invading Piers' space was a death sentence for any man, he'd seen lesser people hit for coming close to touching him without being first given the permission to do so. The only time it was acceptable was when the sniper himself initiated the contact. However Luka's hand strayed, pushing back the locks, until they'd both stopped moving. Luka had on hand, weaving in the short strands, stroking the locks of tawny hair back while Piers stared into him, through him. Ice blues caught those sharp oculars for some time, letting the action continue until at last Piers shook his head and continued their walk, the locks of hair slipping back down his forehead. "It says that underneath that hard shell and strong personality of yours... you are actually very... soft," though the word itself was spoken with every lewd intention on the tip of Luka's tongue. his tone snaked and his eyes scanned the man before him, not hiding the hunger in those icicle colored oculars that feasted on Piers and sent a chill down his spine. As though with every word he was undressing him. "You put up a front, so that everyone will see the hardened soldier that you are, but what you really want," thick accent made the conversation all the more exotic, but there were minor breaks in speech. Luka searching for a word that he thought would be perfect for it rather than a random Russian word he would use when he couldn't think of the complete translation. It was chopped, and yet in ways completely smooth. "What you want is for someone to tear down those tough walls you hide yourself behind and break them until you are free to be you. For someone to dominate you so that you no longer have to be in charge. For a man to hold you down and cover your body in-
"Do you want to come upstairs?"
Luka had stopped at the same time as Piers, looking up into the rain at the building they stood in front of, the drops pouring down on them together as they stood there in silence for some time. It was so startlingly quick that time had moved and yet here they stood all the same. Piers voice was sharp as it always was, sharp, but it didn't hid the erratic movements he made with his eyes to the building and back and the fingers that pushed into his pockets searching for something. Gasping in quickly through through his teeth, the cold air gnawed them both in the rain and looking once to the door, signalling to it with a set of keys he'd pulled from his back pant pocket, Piers didn't need to tell him he'd only ask once. It had been what Luka wanted, but the slight sound that crept in those vowels as he spoke. It appeared very clearly to be the sound of desperation, mingled so finely with his natural tone and anxiety. He'd heard it many times before in lesser men. But then what should he have expected? It was very clear that the man he was goading into giving him this invitation wasn' one how easily gave himself over to carnal wants. He was pushing Piers for this, why else follow him in the rain? Say those things to him that seemed to put bated breaths between them? So the question truly was, was he the kind of man to take advantage of this situation? Most certainly. "That sounds... perfect."
Singin' in the raiinnnn