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Bright sunlight blinds you for a second as you step out of the RED base.
You’re greeted by the sound of sizzling and... is Sniper singing?
“Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me?” He mumbles as he flips a few sausages on the barbecue.
Sniper’s got a very patriotic Australian flag apron on - a clear sign he’s had enough of the American cuisine on offer.
“G’day.” He doesn’t even look at you when he greets you.
“Hey, Mick…” You step forward and peer at the sausages. “What’cha making?”
“Snags.” He gestures to a small stack of buttered bread rolls and a bottle of tomato sauce on the table next to him.
“Hotdogs?”
Sniper immediately glares at you. “I said ‘snags’, you bloody seppo.”
You tilt your head at the insulting nickname. “‘Seppo’?”
“‘Yank’ rhymes with ‘septic tank’.” He grumbles.
“Oh.”
Sniper looks back at the sausages again. “You need something, Sheila?”
“I wasn’t really feeling that hungry for KFC.”
He snorts in amusement. “Right. And I suppose you want some of my grog too?” He gestures to a cooler next to him filled with ice and beers.
“No…”
Sniper sighs and pulls out a fold-up chair. “Sit down.” He shoves you rudely into the rusted old thing.
He uses the tongs to put a sausage into a buttered bread roll, and he adds a few onions to it as well before putting a generous splat of tomato sauce onto it. “There you go, a proper Australian snag for ya.”
“Thanks…” You cautiously take a bite of the snag.
You watch as Sniper takes out one of the beers from the cooler. It was comically small. His hands are quite big, but even then, the bottle was very short. He cracks it open on the edge of the table before taking a sip.
He serves himself a snag and takes a big bite out of it without hesitation. “And that is how it’s done.” He grins proudly at himself and his cooking skills. He takes another swig of beer before looking at you again. “Come on. Have a proper gobful.”
You take another bite of the snag. “It’s good.”
Sniper chuckles. “Bloody oath it is! None of that greasy American crap!” He then offers the beer to you. “Want a sip?”
You lean forward and sniff the contents of the bottle.
Sniper snorts in amusement. “Relax, it’s just a VB. Standard Aussie lager.” He shakes the bottle teasingly. “You a lightweight?”
“I've only ever had Irish Cream liqueur...”
Sniper blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Bloody hell! Irish Cream?” He wipes his eye with the back of his gloved hand. “This is proper alcohol. None of that sweet shit.”
Without asking again, he lifts the bottle and raises it to your lips.
You cautiously take a sip.
Sniper watches closely, half expecting a grimace. VB is strong, especially in comparison to sweet liqueurs.
“It’s alright…”
He snorts, clearly amused by your lukewarm acceptance. You didn’t spit it out, which is a win in his book. “Y'know... Most of that was probably backwash~”
You take another bite of your snag to wash out the taste. “Then I guess your saliva was alright.”
That makes him pause, then laugh again. He hadn’t expected that comeback at all. It gives him a terrible idea.
“D’you want it straight from the source?” He smirks.
A blush blossoms on your cheeks from his words. “Uh…”
Sniper finishes his last bite and wipes his hands on a napkin before taking another long drink from the bottle. Then, without ceremony, he grabs you by the collar and presses his mouth to yours.
You stiffen from the sudden contact.
The kiss is rough - not exactly aggressive, but confident.
He then parts his lips and... spits in your mouth.
He was serious about giving you a direct source...
He pulls back, looking entirely unbothered, if not slightly smug. His storm-blue eyes (rarely seen without his sunglasses) are fixed on your reaction. “Now swallow...”
You cautiously swallow and cringe slightly.
He nods, satisfied. The exchange of spit (crude as it was) had completed the transaction in his mind.
“Good girl.” He turns back around to keep cooking the sausages on the barbecue.