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There wasn’t much time for intimacy when two very busy people led very busy lives with little to no room for a change in pace. Medic and Sniper surely weren’t a pair who abided by the “home by five, dinner on the table by six” rule that they’d both likely been raised by. Not that either of them particularly cared for these kinds of routines; it did, however, make finding long slews of time together (that wasn’t falling asleep together, that is) a bit of a challenge.
Fortunately, both mercenaries happened to love a challenge.
Throughout their time together, they’d learned to cherish intimacy when they had it, savor heated eye contact and flirtatious tugs of their work uniforms when they could, so that they could get the day done with and reunite within the cozy confines of Sniper’s homey van, or the simple, understated quarters of Medic’s bedroom. There were often times that one had to go and fetch the other and drag him to get some food or some sleep; Sniper and his love for routines seemed to be left forgotten when he’d been on a roll cleaning his guns or braiding new leather handles for his weapons, and Medic was another story entirely. The doctor operated on a schedule of his own invention that was unpredictable and ever-changing… such were the needs of his job.
Sniper understood that just fine. It was thanks to that shoddy sleep schedule and lack of proper hydration that fueled the genius that gave him another chance at life, after all. Neither were ones to impede on the other’s operations or how they lived their lives, only that they wanted to live them together, when they had the chance to. But how, with mercenary work, animal care, combat training, and this was just naming a few, could they ever find time to have some kind of moment between the two of them?
The answer, simple as it was, had been discovered completely by accident, despite its presence since the early days of their initial flirtation with one another: sharing food.
Breaking bread was in fact the perfect solution. They always came together to eat at least once a day, no matter what, for multiple reasons, really. Eating, making sure the other one ate, prying themselves away from their work long enough to clear their heads with practical applications of the hands… it was, as Medic had joked, a perfect recipe. Both of them had enjoyed it so much that it was something they mutually looked forward to, looking for all kinds of creative ways they could squeeze in a few romantic minutes together amid their busy lives. It was a nice bonus that everything they cooked, from baking to grilling, came out delicious, too.
Sniper used to hate eating breakfasts. Ibuprofen, a piece of bread and some black coffee were his pre-battle go-to, a combination that had more or less sustained him for his whole life, up until they’d begun to date. Medic, however, often ate his biggest meal of the day in the morning because it was the one he could always trust himself to remember. He’d often sit down next to Sniper - whether it was half-nude in his camper or fully-clothed in the mess hall - with a plate of hearty proteins, usually eggs, a potato of some kind and meat, with a small loaf of delicious-smelling bread that Sniper knew him to have baked himself. The bushman would have balked at the idea of eating something so heavy so early had it not been for his new relationship with Medic, but the doctor had been successful in changing his mind.
While he never forced Sniper to have any, he would always offer to share some with him. Over time, Medic got him to graduate from small nibbles to full bites, until he would wind up eating half the plate, if he woke up hungry enough. He never fixed Sniper his own plate, the marksman had noticed; it always came from the same one as his own, even if the plate was piled high with food that Medic surely hadn’t intended to finish alone. “Better too much than not enough, hmm?” The doctor would gently tease in a low voice as he’d swipe some crumbs away from the corner of Sniper’s mouth and out of his carefully-kept-up 5 o'clock shadow, watching in delight as the other mercenary’s face lit up red.
Medic never cared much for personal space even before they’d become an item, and now even less so. He sat pressed against Sniper’s side, his left arm snaking around the gunman’s waist while the other used the fork or passed it over to his beloved. One fork, one plate, two people, sharing an indulgent meal. Listening to one another’s pleased hums at the taste of the food, feeling Sniper leaning against Medic’s flank, the doctor hooking his ankle atop Sniper’s under the table and beginning to idly sway them; he’d feel the bushman relax his leg and let it be moved beneath Medic’s influence, too distracted by his current role of sighing happily at the taste of delicious, hot food.
If there couldn’t be hot breakfasts and a bench to share, or even a plate, it didn’t stop them. Sniper kept snacks on him throughout the day while they were in battle; a lightheaded or fatigued sharpshooter wouldn’t be shooting sharp at all, anyway. Sometimes they could sneak to each other, typically Medic to Sniper if the combat was dull enough to allow it. Gunshots, “SNIPER, GET YOUR HEAD ON STRAIGHT!”, explosions and “ WHERE ARE YOU, MEDIC?!” were often the only kind of musical accompaniment they had. Not like either of them were paying any attention.
“I GOT IT, I GOT IT,” Sniper would finally bark irritably into his small radio, hesitantly craning his neck away from the doctor’s mouth that was hungrily marking the tanned skin of his beloved’s throat. Medic held a bread roll in his clean, gloveless hand while Sniper leaned to take a bite of it, sticking his head out of the small window and landing a successful headshot on the BLU Heavy. Watching Sniper’s broad shoulders move and poise to take his shot - even when hidden beneath that blasted shapeless vest of his - was a treat. That visual would be good enough until they could really be alone together later, and he could appreciate all of the ways his muscles moved under the bushman’s skin without the frustrating barrier of clothing. “That’ll shut them up for a while,” he reckoned as he chewed. Medic laughed warmly.
Placing his rifle down, he began to peel open an orange. Medic watched his deft hands push back the skin of the fruit with a trained motion, no different than reloading his rifle or driving his van. He pried the fruit apart, the peel of the orange yielding to the rough pads of his fingers. The doctor loved the sound fruits made when they were being peeled. A soft brrrip . Perfekt. The flesh of the orange was darker than a regular orange’s, more similar to that of a blood orange. “Hmm,” Sniper frowned and pursed his lips, observing the juicy-looking fruit with an always-sharp, discerning eye. “Let me know what this one’s like. Warm days, cool nights out here should yield a flavor that’s a bit more… tart.” He muttered to himself, and Medic’s smile only grew. Before they had become close, he’d had no idea that Sniper was so passionate about gardening.
Sniper grew these in his small, portable home, and their scent always made Medic’s mind wander to where he’d found himself longing to be: Waking up to the glorious sight of Sniper, completely nude, standing at his small sink, peeling and propagating and prepping and preserving while the smell of coffee wafted up to the loft bed where the doctor lay, nestled beneath warm layers of blankets of all different textures and weights. The blinds over the small windows would remain drawn until the doctor awoke, but he’d often lay still and silent just to watch how the small bands of light that snuck between the blinds added orange stripes to his lover’s bare skin. Medic so adored the marksman’s lines ; the lines of his face, the jagged stretch marks that raked up his hips and the sides of his breasts, the healed, puckered flesh of his y-shaped scar… the light curved around his round belly like a ribbon around a present. A gift indeed, and for his observation only.
“I know I’ll love it. The flavor profiles you can create… hoo! I’m excited!” Medic tittered, the flush on Sniper’s ears and face darkening at Medic’s shared enthusiasm for a hobby he held so dear. With absolutely none of the irritability he’d just snarled at their teammates with, Sniper pulled a piece of the orange off from the rest and brought it to Medic’s mouth with a gentle grin, who carefully grabbed the orange in his teeth with a playful smile of his own.
“They’re gonna notice you’re nestin’ up here with me sooner or later,” Sniper observed, leaning forward nibbling at the doctor’s neck in return, his chapped lips mouthing over the vein in his throat and gnashing his teeth against it gently. He didn’t need to see Medic’s face to know he was grinning.
Pulling away after a moment and leaning down to meet the doctor’s hand, the marksman took another bite of the bread that Medic was still holding. The doctor snorted as he chewed the orange slice, furrowing his brow and nodding his head at the window distastefully. “Delicious,” Medic sighed, pointing to his mouth as he chewed. It had such a unique taste! Sniper was a merc of many talents, it seemed. He should make some claim to the higher ups that he suddenly needed a greenhouse for some of his lab experiments, just because he’d love to see what Sniper could do with a working space of that size.
“Yeah, I knew that one.” Sniper teased, reaching out and playfully pinching the shelf of fat of the doctor’s belly with a wink. Medic was delicious, and Sniper was glad he was the one who knew it. Both mercenaries giggled. The doctor eyed the fruit in Sniper’s hand, observing the random streaks of reddish coloring amidst the golden expanse of the orange’s fleshy, primary color. It looked like something he’d only see under a microscope, yet here it was, present in nature, by his lover’s hand. Science and Sniper, his two most beloved marvels.
“And good,” Medic declared through his last few bites before swallowing, “let them think about how much they need me, since they seldom ever appreciate me when I am there. It’s good for morale.”
“That you’re up here with me?”
“No, that’s just good for me.” Medic grinned cheekily, “Their suffering is good for morale,” winking at Sniper and nodding his head to the orange. “Another piece, bitte,” came the polite request that he simply could not deny. Sniper smiled warmly, the kind that made the wrinkles by his eyes scrunch up in the way Medic adored. This kind of closeness really made it feel like they were alone and not on a battlefield covered in gore and sweat and dust… sharing small, simple things like food had become something of a love language for them.
I’d never deny you; he didn’t dare confess it out loud. It wasn’t like he’d needed to, anyway. He knew Medic could read it in his eyes like a book, could pry it out of him when their mouths touched or when he’d make his skin scorch beneath his touch when they’d lay together. Nothing but the sun coming in through his van’s window and Medic’s hands on him… heat, heat, heat. His heart raced as he thought about it, looking into Medic’s icy eyes and seeing the amusement in them. It prickled his skin, like jumping into a freezing pool on a boiling day.
See? Didn’t need to say anything. You already know where my mind is.
Sniper brought the piece to his lover’s mouth and swallowed thickly as Medic’s teeth and tongue slid over the pads of his fingers, warm breath washing over his digits as the doctor took the slice past his lips, watching as his cheek puffed out on one side as he chewed. He couldn’t help it. He leaned forward again, letting out something of a flustered exhale as Medic easily leaned in, eager to be the recipient of whatever affection Sniper was to bestow upon him. Sniper was still getting used to that. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Medic’s mouth, treating the very tip of his tongue to the taste of his beloved.
They both knew what each other’s hands were capable of. Capable of taking lives just as easily as they were saving them. Sniper eyed the discarded red glove that typically protected his hand laying atop Medic’s fat, muscular thigh. Soft hands that were spared from all of the carnage his gloves plunged into each and every time they went into battle. Seeing the gloves soaked in gore only to be discarded for a moment, just long enough to feed Sniper some bread he’d kept wrapped up in cloth within one of his pouches.
Saving lives could wait! Medic had to sneak away to feed ol’ Sniper freshly-baked bread like some kind of prince! He sure knew how to make him feel special.
Sniper leaned down again to finish off the roll; too bad it was gone now, Medic really did make the best bread… Medic’s hand raised to meet him halfway as Sniper had previously done, the piece of bread nestled in the doctor’s large palm, held in place against it with his thumb. The rogue didn’t hesitate; he sank his teeth into the last piece, the end piece. His favorite. His nose nestled against Medic’s palm, burying his face in his soft hand as he chewed. The doctor giggled, reaching his free hand forward and taking off Sniper’s hat, running his nails over the bushman’s sweaty scalp.
Crikey, that felt good. Was it always going to feel just as good as when he’d done it for the first time?
“Y’want some more?” Sniper breathed against Medic’s palm, craning his neck and pressing a chaste kiss to Medic’s hairy knuckles as he readied another piece and popped it in the doctor’s mouth, his thumb touching the bottom of Medic’s lip before his eye caught some of the juice from the orange sliding down Medic’s jawline. With only a second of hesitation, Sniper leaned forward and placed his mouth over the citrus trail, his tongue gathering it up before it went down the doctor’s neck.
“Mhmm, please…” With a pleased, low sigh, Medic craned his neck for the sharpshooter, the hand in his hair coming down and stroking Sniper’s chest gently. He smiled widely as he could feel a rumble from within his lover’s chest; a pleased purr rolled low in his throat, like the chuff of a crocodile. “ This is better for me, though.” Medic sighed heavily as he distractedly continued their long-since-dead previous conversation about morale, his thumb moving in sweeping motions over the bushman’s breast, biting his own lip in giddy anticipation as he felt Sniper run his tongue over the pulse in his neck again. Sniper chuckled, humming in amusement as he slowly began to lean more of his weight against the doctor. If he leaned against Medic any harder, he’d have to crawl into his lap.
“Should I really keep you hidden away in my nest a little longer, pretty dovey? Let those poor lads down there suffer just ‘cause I feel like bein’ greedy?” He wondered aloud, voice low as his free hand rested on Medic’s waist, his long fingers playfully strumming at the backpack straps of the medigun’s kit. The doctor let out a thoughtful hum as he closed his eyes (as if he was really thinking about it. Ha!) and brushing the cap of his knee against Sniper’s hip, eliciting another playful purr from the huntsman, rewarding Medic with a nibble at his throat.
“Yes, I think you should.” The doctor decided resolutely, taking what remained of the orange from Sniper’s hand and placing it beside him atop the crate they sat on. “Selfishness looks good on you. In fact-”
“MEDIC! WHERE ARE YOU?!”
“You sure? They sound pretty cross with us,” Sniper jested as he peppered kisses to the other mercenary’s neck, pinching his tie between his thumb and index finger and giving it a few playful tugs. Of course, he wasn’t keen on stopping just because his teammates were struggling a little. When things got dicey, he and Medic would step back in. Until then, they were more than capable enough on their own. Besides, he’d fantasized about Medic being up here with him long enough; he was set on enjoying the time they got together now that they were finally, well, together.
“So sure, in fact, that I’m going to stay up here for an extra five minutes.” Medic grunted in response to their teammates whining, the bushman laughing softly against his lover’s sweaty skin. He felt Medic tap the face of Sniper’s watch that he never took off his as though to cement that it was not up for debate.
Five more minutes it was. What plover-darling wanted, plover-darling got.
Both of his hands slid up Medic’s waist to his flanks, rough thumbs rubbing just below the doctor’s breasts. He let out a pleased, heavy sigh as he pulled Sniper closer, the two mercenaries chuckling at the other’s eagerness. Medic brought Sniper into a heated, tender kiss, their glasses gently knocking together with a soft click as their steadily-getting-harder breathing fogged the lenses up just slightly, enough to make Medic pull his mouth from Sniper’s with a light pop.
“Come here,” Medic breathed, pulling the taller mercenary onto his lap, feeling him adjust accordingly. They both sighed heavily at the friction as the doctor’s fingertips ran over the crocodile-leather of Sniper’s belt, appreciating the texture as he grasped Sniper’s shirt, pulling it up just enough so that his cold hands could know the warmth of the bushman’s skin. Sniper jolted in his lap, the two of them sharing a combined moan-laugh against each other’s mouths.
“Bloody cold hands,” Sniper breathed, his tongue sliding over Medic’s lips and purring in delight as the other mercenary nibbled at Sniper’s lower lip. They felt great against his back, keenly aware of his damp-with-sweat polo and undershirt being bunched up to make more room for Medic’s large hands. “Say you’re sorry,” he rasped against Medic’s ear, nipping at his lobe while his nose buried itself in the gray hairs at his lover’s temple.
“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” Medic purred back, his hands sliding off of the bushman’s back and down to his hips, beginning to push and pull them as he felt Sniper’s hips quickly pick up the pattern, swaying them heavily under the doctor’s careful guidance. “Because I’m <i>not</i> sorry,” he asserted. Sniper’s breath hitched and flooded over Medic’s neck, hot and heavy and laced with want. They didn’t have enough time to do everything they wanted to do to each other. How do you fit a whole day’s worth of ‘I need you’s into five minutes, anyway?!
“Suppose I’d better make those five minutes’a yours count, then. Your time’s precious, after all.” Sniper purred, reaching up and running his thumb over that perfect coif on his beloved’s forehead, bringing his lips to the bushman’s again and groaning softly into the kiss. He felt the doctor smirk against his mouth, bucking his hips hard enough to make Sniper bounce just perfectly in his lap with a pleased giggle. Those life-saving hands seemed to be finding Sniper’s waist, hips and rear infinitely more interesting playthings than his medigun or beloved ubersaw.
Medic tossed his head back, flipping his perfect coif back into place on his forehead. The doctor narrowed his eyes and smiled deviously at Sniper. “Indeed, very! So let’s make this time count, krokodil!“