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The clicking of steel against rock rings in his ears, the sound growing more and more unbearable by the second. It couldn’t have been more than an hour and already his partner was causing his patience to dwindle, Felix’s constant need to be doing something being one of his many downfalls in Locus’ eyes. Glaring down the scope of a sniper rifle he’s almost tempted to turn the weapon on his fellow mercenary, though decides against the action—knowing that unfortunately, it’d only make his job that much harder. He couldn’t exactly explain to his employer that Felix had died out on the field by his own rifle while the battle was at a lull.
Even so, the sound persists, the scraping of Felix’s combat knife against the rock growing more rapid as he seems to be carving something into it—what, Locus hadn’t a clue nor a want to know. All he wanted is for it to stop.
“Felix!”
A raise of his voice and the soldier’s weapon lowers, head turning enough to glare at his partner, though it would go unnoticed by the cover of his helmet. He’d gained Felix’s attention and in return the sound had stopped, the weapon between gloved fingers now being twirled and tossed, his focus quickly leaving Locus’ outburst and onto something more interesting.
A heave of a sigh and he’s back to staring down the scope, doing his best to now ignore the other completely until their current mission is completed.
Of course, Felix wasn’t going to stand around wasting his time—all they were assigned to do was scout, keep an eye on the area, and make sure nothing had begun backfiring on their plans. And, as usual, everything was quiet, neither sides of the field making any moves, needing just that one last push from ‘their’ mercenary to kick everything off.
Sheathing his knife and stepping forward the orange-trimmed merc clears his throat, arms crossing over his chest loosely and head tilting down to glance toward his focused partner.
“C’mon, Locus. We’ve been out here long enough, the Feds and Reps aren’t going to be doing anything until we tell them to.”
There’s no words in response, and the longer Felix has to wait, the more persistent he’d become.
“Call the Pirates and get us out of here. You can get back to the Feds, I’ll get back to the Reps, and we can watch them slowly kill themselves up close.”
He can see Locus noticeably twitch, the small movement causing a smirk to etch across pale features. It wasn’t difficult to tell when his partner was becoming irritated, patience slowly fading the more Felix spoke—and what just so happened to be one of the mercenary’s favorite pass times? Pissing off Locus.
“Loc—“
“Be quiet.”
An interruption of speech and Locus throws the rifle down at his feet, spinning on heavy armored boots to face the annoyance. Even with his face covered it was easy to decipher just what he was feeling—brows knitted, lip curled in a sneer, teeth clenched tightly together and eyes pierced like daggers. Just the mental image of his expression almost causes Felix to laugh, shoulders giving a slight shake as he holds back the laughter.
“Calm down there, partner, I’m just pushing at your buttons.”
If that was supposed to calm the soldier down, to make him reconsider what he was about to do—well, it was a loss. Locus had already taken a step forward, palms pressing against the orange mercenary’s shoulders and giving a harsh shove back, pinning Felix up against the rocky wall. Fingers clutch at armored shoulders, keeping him pressed back with just one hand as the other fiddles with the lock on Felix’s helmet.
If he was being honest, Felix hadn’t quite foreseen the outcome—he knew Locus was bound to snap, perhaps even lash out at him, but this? This certainly wasn’t what he’d expected. Though, out of all the scenarios that would play in his head, so far, this had to be the best one.
“Well, someone sure is feeling brave.”
The comment is offhanded, the man having a good enough profile of his partner developed to know that it’d go ignored, seeing as he was busy with removing Felix’s helmet rather than listening to what he had to say. Even when Locus removes his hand from the shoulder and uses it to tug Felix’s helmet off, dropping the object to the ground without care, Felix stays put, too curious to see just what was in store.
“Why don’t you ever learn?”
Locus hisses, voice rough and gravelly and only growing increasingly aggravated when the smirk over the other’s features is revealed. The constant bother that Felix was tore down Locus’ walls day by day, unsure of how much longer he could put up with it all. But, today—today was not one of those days where he’d be quiet and let the bother pass him over.
“Why don’t you teach me?”
The mercenary responds, merely riling Locus up at this point—hell, he didn’t even care about getting off the ground and going back to the ship; finding this to be far more enjoyable now. In Felix’s mind, his challenge seemed to perk Locus up, the soldier’s hand sliding down an armored thigh, the opposite wrapping fingers below the chin and around his neck. Fingers press into the exposed skin—not hard enough for any pain, but just enough for Felix to feel pressure, a surprised hitch of his breath letting Locus know that he’d felt it.
The hand traveling down Felix’s thigh pauses its travels over the sheathed weapon, fingers wrapping around the handle of the steel and orange combat knife, picking the item from its spot. Locus flips the knife around, the bladed point now being pointed toward himself as he raises the weapon, swiftly placing the handle to Felix’s lips and forcing his mouth open.
“Mmph--?”
Biting down onto the handle of his own weapon amber eyes narrow, unsure of what Locus’ game now was—if he was trying to kill him, he was using the wrong side of the knife. He knew Locus knew that, of course, so just what exactly was he doing?
The clenching of Felix’s jaw causes the soldier to frown, an irritated rumble vibrating through his chest. Fingers that held around the mercenary’s neck tighten and push up, forcing Felix’s head to tilt upwards, the tip of the handle pressing uncomfortably against the roof of his mouth. A move of Felix’s body and Locus shoves the handle further into his mouth, forcing it passed the teeth that latched on, the mercenary’s body squirming to the awkward feeling of the large handle in his mouth.
“Here’s a lesson for you.”
Locus growls, shoving the knife’s handle with force against the back of Felix’s throat. Felix’s arm reaches up, fingers wrapping around Locus’ wrist and pulling away from himself, chest heaving with a cough behind the hard plastic, throat rebelling to having the object shoved into it. The merc grunts, grip tightening around the arm that was held, a swallow causing his throat to lock with a forceful gag and eyes to squeeze shut.
The harder Felix gags the more force Locus gives to the pushing, jamming the handle as far as he could without actually choking him, and as far as he could go without Felix growing angry and lashing at him. Felix’s stomach lurches as he gags loudly around the handle of the knife, the burning feeling of acid rising in his throat causing him to instinctively swallow. It was almost automatic that Felix knew he’d made a terrible decision, the swallow only causing a gag that not only was painful enough to prick tears in his eyes but forces the contents of whatever was in his stomach up.
Locus hadn’t even time to fully remove the object or his hand back before Felix finally retches, a mouthful of saliva and stomach acid coating the handle of the blade along with Locus’ gloved fingers. With the hand and the weapon fully removed Felix looks just pitiful, sticky vomit dripping from his chin and dirtying an orange and steel chest plate, a glassy, unsteady gaze narrowed at his partner.
The soldier had promptly dropped the now, filthy blade to the dirt, hand shaking out as a poor attempt to get the puke off. A sneer is hidden behind his green and black helmet, not having expected Felix to lose it so quickly—obviously, some practice was needed, but of course, that’d be saved for another time. At least he’d finally gotten Felix to shut the hell up.
“Next time, it’ll be the blade.”