Archive of Our Own

"John," Ocelot rolls the name over his tongue. "Jooohn. J-ohn. Johnnnnnnn."

He sighs, puts his head in his hands, and flops back on the bed. This is bad. He is a grown man. He has loyalties. Intrigues in motion. He can't just drop everything for some man he had some kind of teenage crush on, no matter how impressively the man fought, or how -

Or how good he looked writhing in pain, the smell of his sweat and his blood, how his body could take such a beating and still run a hundred miles afterward, the way he sounded when he screamed -

Huh.

Ocelot has never regretted being done with a mission this much.

-

"But that was some fancy shooting. You're pretty good."

Ocelot sits bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. Snake isn't here. Isn't standing over him, knife to his throat, ready to kill him if he thinks he's a threat for real. Didn't just slam him down to the ground so hard he saw stars. Fuck, but he was hard.

He leans back down to the pillow, and closes his eyes. Thinks about their parting CQC fight, the way Snake's entire body pressed against his to keep him pinned. The way his hands tightened on him to throw him. Ocelot remembers the thrill of grappling with him, how it felt to struggle and writhe to get a hand free and how Snake's hands would grab his wrists and hold them with such immense strength. He thinks about what those hands would feel like wrapped around his neck.

Thinks about how it felt to turn his own moves against him, slam him into the wall. To beat him bruised and bloody. Remembers the real fear in his eyes when he realized the revolver he had picked had no bullet. He wonders what it would be like to strike him when he was tied up and unable to fight back, all that strength useless and at his mercy -

Ocelot reaches for his tissue box and realizes he is completely and thoroughly fucked.

-

There's no reason to stay and take the fall for Volgin's incompetency, so he goes back to America after. Lets them pat him on the back for for a job well done and a cover un-blown. They give him a month of R&R while they figure out something else to do with him. With Volgin taken care of, no vast sums of money to steal, and the Boss out of the picture, they don't seem to have any immediate plans for him. Ocelot figures they didn't really expect him to survive.

That's fine. He has an important follow-up he needs to make. He can't just ask where Snake will be - too obvious. Instead, he calls in a favor and finds out where they're putting the Boss's tombstone. Snake will be there, he's sure.

-

Ocelot finds a secluded bench in the corner of the graveyard to watch from. Snake will come here, he's sure of it. He'll want to say a final goodbye to the Boss. Ocelot isn't sure how Snake will will react to seeing him again. Snake was always willing to play - their CQC fights were testament to that; so was their first meeting, when they both had the chance to kill each other and then didn't. But there's a big difference between playing with someone and making a friend. If Ocelot wants Snake to accept him, he's going to have to find a way to appeal to him more.

As Ocelot waits for Snake, he thinks, and he ponders, and he plans. He also fantasizes. A lot. He puts extra effort into remembering the fantasies he's sure Snake would be into too.

Two weeks go by, and Ocelot is practically vibrating with frustration by the time Snake finally shows. Snake is wearing his dress uniform, and he's carrying one of those flowers and a briefcase. He sets them both down in front of the Boss's grave and pulls out a cigar. He smokes until the cigar is done, then stands up and salutes. Ocelot watches from a hundred feet away as Snake holds the salute for nearly an hour. When he finally turns to leave, Ocelot catches sight of tears drying on his cheek.

Fuck. How close had Snake and the Boss been? He had thought that Snake was going to move on quickly, but the bitterness on his face spoke to a deep emotional wound. Now Ocelot is about to stride into his life like a jackass while he's trying to mourn. Those aren't exactly the terms he'd wanted to meet on.

Oh, well. It's not like he'll ever get a better chance.

Ocelot stalks Snake out of the graveyard, keeping his distance. He has no idea where Snake lives, and hopes it's not on a base, because he doesn't have any reason to be there and doesn't want to raise any red flags by lying his way in. He's in luck, though - Snake walks for about thirty minutes and then unlocks the door to a small house surrounded by trees, near a lake. Somehow, he's not surprised to find him living alone, surrounded by nature. Ocelot smiles to himself. It seems appropriate.

He waits several hours, watching the house and going over what he's going to say. Just as the sun is setting, he walks up to the door and knocks twice. There's no response for several minutes, so Ocelot does it again, louder this time. He still hears no response, and just as he's raising his arm to knock a third time, the door opens. Snake is standing there, wearing sweat pants and no shirt. He's holding one hand behind his back, and Ocelot doesn't need to see it to know it's holding a gun.

Snake stares at him incredulously. After an uncomfortably long silence, he says, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Ocelot takes a deep breath. "Teach me CQC," he says.

Snake looks like he's debating the merits of slamming the door in Ocelot's face versus shooting him.

"I told you we'd meet again," Ocelot reminds him. "I wasn't about to let you escape back to America and disappear forever. I want to learn how you fight. There's no better way to learn than from a good teacher. And I'm a fast learner." And I've never wanted something so much in my life.

"You can't be serious. Last time we met, we were enemies."

"Didn't some famous soldier say that today's friends could be tomorrow's enemies? Why not the other way too?"

Snake seems to be mulling it over. Ocelot is surprised - he came prepared with way more convincing arguments than that. But he's not about to ruin his good lead by running his mouth. When Snake looks up, he appears to be holding back tears. He actually flinches when they make eye contact, and then looks down at his feet. "I don't know if I can teach. I'm not... like her," he says dully.

Ocelot takes a risk, steps over the threshold, and holds Snake's free hand with his gloved ones. "I'm not looking for her. I want you."

There are a tense few moments of silence. Ocelot is about to curse himself for messing it up when Snake snaps, "Fine." He holds up the the gun non-threateningly and sets it aside. Adam can't hide the grin that springs to his face at Snake's acceptance. He wants to lean in and hug him, kiss his mouth. Instead, he brings John's calloused hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

"Thank you. You won't regret this," Ocelot promises.

There's an awkward moment when Snake turns to go back inside and Ocelot doesn't let go of his hand. Snake raises an eyebrow at him. God, but Ocelot loves his face. On anyone else the eye patch would look ugly or stupid. It looks so natural on Snake, a perfect testament to war. Before Snake can say anything, Ocelot blurts out, "Can I stay here?"

That incredulous expression is back. "Don't you have somewhere else to stay? Isn't that the kind of thing you should figure out before you go somewhere?"

"I could stay somewhere else," Ocelot admits. "But I want to stay here." It couldn't hurt to try, right?

Snake rolls his eye and shakes his head, but he stands across the doorway and gestures for Ocelot to go into the house.

The sound of the door closing behind Ocelot feels like victory, just as sweet as any he's ever had.

-

Ocelot picks himself off the ground again and rubs the shoulder that Snake had just smashed into the practice mat. He's been practicing with Snake for three days now, hours upon hours of drilling and sparring on a mat Snake had laid out in his garage, and he has nothing but bruises to show for it. "You're much faster than you were back in Russia," Ocelot accuses. "Were you holding out on me back then?"

Snake settles back down into his stance for another round. "Kid, when we fought, I'd been living off jungle animals for the past two weeks, I'd been shot about six times, my eye hurt constantly, and I'd just nearly been electrocuted." Snake gestures with his fingers for Ocelot to attack him again.

Ocelot's stance mirrors Snake's. "So I'd have to torture you to keep up with you in CQC?" he teases. Ocelot's palms shoot out, reaching for Snake's collar. Snake does a twisting motion with his arms and throws Ocelot off.

"Something like that," Snake says. Snake goes on the offensive then. He goes for a sweep, which Ocelot stops by taking a wide stance past Snake. Snake reacts quickly, though, and turns Ocelot's motion into a throw. Snake grabs his arms along the way, and by the time Ocelot hits the ground again, his arms have been effectively restrained to Snake's shoulders, and Snake's legs have wrapped around Ocelot's leg as well. Ocelot is very aware of the way Snake's lips are smooshed into his neck.

Snake holds on to him for a few moments longer than necessary, and Ocelot squirms, trying not to release the desperate moan that rises to his throat. He's hoping his erection isn't visible through his pants.

When Snake releases him, Ocelot stands up in silence. Snake is looking at him with some newfound interest, but he doesn't say anything. Ocelot curses under his breath and crouches, getting ready to attack again.

He circles around Snake for a few seconds, then strikes, hoping to knock him to the ground. Snake easily pushes his hand out of the way, grabs his wrist, and twists Ocelot so he's facing away from him. Ocelot kicks back with his feet, but Snake has foreseen this, his stance is solid enough that Ocelot can't knock him off his feet. Snake pulls Ocelot's arm up and adjusts his grip so his other forearm is around Ocelot's neck. Ocelot stops struggling. Snake doesn't let go. Snake's breath tickles Ocelot's ear and all of a sudden Ocelot realizes Snake's hard too. He grinds back experimentally, just the lightest pressure of his ass against Snake's crotch.

"Hnn," Snake grunts. Ocelot isn't sure if that was a good sound or a bad sound until Snake leans in and closes his teeth over Ocelot's earlobe. Ocelot's whole body writhes in Snake's grip. Snake tilts Ocelot's chin back with his forearm and bites the skin just behind his ear. "Is this what you wanted?" Snake murmurs. "Is this why you're here?"

"Partly," Ocelot admits. The last part of the word is lost in a gasp as Snake licks the back of his ear. "But I didn't think it would actually happen."

Snake hums into his ear and releases him. Ocelot doesn't turn around, just stays there, looking at the ground.

"Wait here for a minute," Snake says, and then he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

Ocelot stares at the closed door. A minute ticks by and Ocelot's pacing is going to wear a hole in the mat. He picks up his scarf from the chair he left it on, and puts it back around his neck, just to have something to fiddle with while he stands still. Don't get ahead of yourself. You don't know how far he'll be willing to go. Just start with something he'll be into.

Ocelot is kneeling when Snake comes back into the room. Snake quirks an eyebrow up. Ocelot blushes furiously. This was a bad idea.

"I just - I thought -" he stammers.

"Stop talking," Snake chides. He steps closer to him, and from here his scent is nearly overwhelming - all smoke and sweat and earth, Ocelot could just about faint. Snake reaches out a hand and runs his fingers through Ocelot's hair. "Adamska..."

"Adam," Ocelot corrects him breathily.

"Adam," John says. The sound of his name is sweet coming from John's lips. John inspects his still-blushing face for a few moments and then nods, seemingly coming to a decision. John's fingers tighten in his hair and without warning he yanks his head back sharply. Ocelot gasps and his hands reach up instinctively to grab at John's wrist before he can stop himself. John gives him a questioning look. Feeling stupid, Ocelot pulls his hands back down and grips his own wrists behind his back.

"Give me your scarf," John commands. Ocelot doesn't let himself think about it, just pulls it off and holds it up. John finally lets go of his grip on his scalp and kneels down behind him to tie Ocelot's wrists together. Ocelot's heart is pounding wildly in his chest, John's breath is raising goosebumps on the back of his neck, and when John is done, Ocelot tugs at the binding, testing its strength. He could probably get out of it given enough time. But not quickly.

"That's better." John stands up. "Now, let me see..." John tilts Ocelot's head back and runs his hands firmly along Ocelot's jaw, pressing over his mouth and running his thumbs over the creases of Ocelot's neck. Ocelot sighs happily while John explores. His hands rub firmly along every inch of his face. He's just feeling, exploring Ocelot's lips, his cheeks, from his ears down to his jaw and across his chin. He's applying so much pressure that Ocelot actually has to fight to keep his balance on his knees. John's hands make their way up to Ocelot's hair again, massaging his scalp deeply. He walks around behind him, and Ocelot can't really tilt his head back to look at him without dislodging the grip he has in his hair. When John moves one hand down and cups it firmly over Ocelot's eyes, Ocelot's breath stutters. He's never really been blinded like this. It's exhilarating. John stills, and Ocelot is acutely aware of the sounds of their breath and of his own thundering heartbeat. He fights to stay calm and quiet, and get his heart under control.

After a couple minutes, though, he's started to squirm, and his breath is coming in short little gasps. Ocelot opens his mouth - he's not sure why, maybe to ask John to stop this and get a move on, maybe to ask him to keep going - and then John quickly moves the hand holding Ocelot's hair to cover his mouth instead, and uses both hands to pull him back against his body. Ocelot's muffled "mmph!" gets lost as he's pulled backwards. John is keeping his head restrained against his stomach with one hand over his eyes and the other over his mouth, and using all of his considerable strength to hold him there. Ocelot frantically gasps through his nose, his mouth is slightly open but his moans can't escape past John's palm, and his hands are frantically grasping behind him for something to hold onto.

John chuckles above him. Ocelot is trying not to hyperventilate, fighting to still his body. He can feel John's erection poking into his back, and he's pretty sure this is the hardest he's been in his life. His quiet moans get stifled by John's hand, and his brief efforts at struggling have no effect whatsoever. John starts slowly kneeling down, bringing Ocelot with him, coaxing his legs out in front of him so that Ocelot is sitting instead of kneeling. John braces Ocelot's head on the front of his knee and starts to kneel, lowering Ocelot to the ground one inch at a time, never removing the pressure his hands are applying over Ocelot's eyes and mouth. Ocelot's entire body shivers when he realizes this is a modified version of the CQC throw that John uses to knock out enemy soldiers. When John pushes him off his knee onto the ground, he's lying down, his hands are awkwardly trapped underneath his back, and it's all he can do to keep his composure.

John murmurs above him: "If I let your mouth go, will you do what I ask you to?" He moves his hand just barely enough to let Ocelot speak.

"Yes," Ocelot breathes. The hand disappears.

"Close your eyes," John says. Ocelot closes them. A few moments later, the hand is pulled away from his eyes too. Ocelot move now - the only thing restraining him is his scarf around his hands - but he doesn't.

John goes back to exploring. He slips his hands underneath Ocelot's shirt, pulls it up and rubs his palms along his chest. Ocelot can feel his breath on his face - he must be leaning right over him - and resists the urge to open his eyes. Goosebumps rise all over his arms and legs - anywhere not being touched by John's hands suddenly feels cold. John leans down and brushes his lips over Ocelot's - just barely making contact - and Ocelot lifts his head up and kisses him furiously.

Tries to, anyway, but John stands up before he gets much of a chance to, and Ocelot is left gasping at nothing, flailing around as he tries to figure out how to lift himself up on his arms. He stills when he feels John kneel down next to his hips and throw his leg over his body, straddling him.

"John," Ocelot moans. His head clunks back down to the floor.

John chuckles again as he grinds his hips against his crotch, slowly building friction even though there's still two layers of clothing between them. Ocelot gets into it, rolls his hips in time with John's movements.

John grabs his hips and forces them to be still, makes Ocelot go at his slow-burning pace. Ocelot kicks his legs and twists his wrists and bucks his hips with all his strength but there really isn't anything he can do to get John to go faster. He lets out a frustrated groan as John takes his sweet time undoing the tie on Ocelot's pants, pulling them down, then slowly - slowly - running his fingers along his stiff length.

"Stay put," John says, and then he fucking stands up and his footsteps start walking away.

Fuck this, Ocelot thinks, and he opens his eyes, sees John backing away from him but still gazing at him interestedly, his head tilted in consideration, like he had all the time in the world to study Ocelot and do whatever it is he's doing.

Fuck restraint. Ocelot scowls at him and sits up. "I hope you're having fun, John."

John grins back at him. "Oh, I am."

Ocelot growls, and launches himself across the gap at him. With his hands tied behind his back and his cock hanging out of his pants, this won't be the most graceful attempted takedown he's ever done, but he knocks John over nonetheless. John makes a painful-sounding "oof!" when his back hits the floor, Ocelot on top of him. It's a parody of the position they had just been in, only Ocelot's hands are still tied behind his back and Ocelot knows that the grip his knees have on John's hands aren't going to hold them if John puts up a legitimate fight. But for now, John just keeps watching him with that same fucking impassive stare he's had this whole time.

"You," Ocelot tells him, "are. Infuriating." Ocelot bends down, tugs John's pants down with his teeth. It takes a couple tries, and words keep spilling out of his mouth as he does so. "You - mmf - fucking tease." Ocelot finally manages to pull John's dick out, and it's just as nice as he'd fantasized it would be. It's gonna be a hell of a ride, Ocelot pulls himself up and gets ready to prove it, and then John taps him with something on the side of his leg. Ocelot looks down, then looks back at John exasperatedly.

"I can't believe you," he mutters, but he leans forward so he can grab the little bottle of lube with his bound hands anyway. He probably makes a huge mess as he tries to slather it over his fingers and reach back far enough to finger himself, but he's past caring about that at this point. John makes no move to help him, he's still just fucking staring like he's trying to solve a riddle written on Ocelot's forehead or something.

When he finally sinks down on John's cock it's everything he'd imagined it would be. Ocelot almost makes the mistake of closing his eyes, but then he notices that he's finally getting a reaction out of John, his eye has closed and his head is thrown back and his hands have risen naturally to Ocelot's hips, helping him support himself. Ocelot's hands flex behind him as he rises and falls, and he watches every one of John's hitched breaths. Ocelot almost loses his balance for a moment, clenching reflexively, and John's entire body shudders. Ocelot smiles - fucking finally - and then rides him hard and fast, keeping his balance by sheer willpower.

John's air of self-control has vanished. Ocelot looks down triumphantly at John's blotchy face and quivering body. The scarf has been pulled taut enough for him to pull a hand out, he realizes - so he does so and cups the side of John's face, the side where he still has an eye. John's eye opens at the contact, then promptly rolls back in his head as Ocelot snaps his hips down and tightens on him all at once. Ocelot almost wants to slap him, just a little, just to see what would happen and see if he's truly as far gone as he seems to be.

Instead he covers John's eye with his hand. John lets out a moan that's closer to a whimper, and a few seconds later Ocelot can feel him stiffen as he comes inside him. John's moan turns into a long, contented sigh. He turns his head slightly, kisses the inside of Ocelot's wrist. He takes one hand off Ocelot's leg and feels his way up to his cock, milking him in slow, steady strokes until Ocelot comes over his stomach. It's the best feeling of Ocelot's damn life.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious, he takes his hand off John's eye. John is still staring at him, but now he seems satisfied rather than puzzled. Ocelot pulls off of him and sits back on his thighs. "You were winding me up on purpose," he accuses.

"Guilty." John grins. "But I learned something," he says cryptically.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind," John says. "We'll resume tomorrow."

That night is the first night Ocelot regrets his decision to sleep on John's couch. After lying awake frustrated for an hour, he decides that if John didn't want him masturbating on his couch, he wouldn't be fucking him in his garage. Fuck it.

-

"Today we're going to practice immobilizing your opponent. We've been focusing on knock-out hits, disarms, and knife techniques. But CQC is also about grappling, and there are plenty of times when you'd want to immobilize your opponent but leave them conscious." Snake lays out the practice mat while he talks. "I'm sure I don't need to teach you when that would be."

"Oh, believe me, I can think of some ideas."

Snake grunts, pulls off his shirt and gestures for Ocelot to come over and do the same. Ocelot removes his shirt and scarf and folds them neatly. He hesitates at the gloves.

Snake notices. "Keep them on. You won't have time to take them off in a sudden fight, and you have different priorities with them on. You're less vulnerable to getting your hand cut up, but you won't have as much tactile feedback."

Ocelot nods, briefly stretches and jumps up and down a few times, then settles into a claw-hand CQC stance. Snake does the same.

Ocelot goes on the offensive, reaching out and attempting to lock Snake's arm while he sweeps his foot around the back to knock Snake off his feet. Snake sees it coming, deflects his hands effortlessly and crouches down. Rather than tripping Snake like he intended to, Ocelot finds Snake's hands grasping his arm, and the next thing he knows, he's spinning backwards and all the wind is knocked out of him when his back hits the floor. Snake locks up his arm with his wrists while keeping Ocelot's torso pinned with his leg.

Ocelot taps Snake's leg with his free arm and they both stand up and start again.

Fifteen minutes and several failed grapples on Ocelot's part later, they break for water before going back again. Ocelot has to admit he's getting frustrated - it seems like Snake always finds a way to pin him immediately, and every time Ocelot gets a grip on him, he manages to slither out.

After Snake manages to wriggle out and pin him again, Snake says, "You're quitting too early. The fight isn't over if I get a hold of you, and it isn't over if you get a hold of me." Snake has his arm locked up with both hands and has both of his legs over Ocelot's torso. "You expect that I've beaten you, so you don't fight anymore. Fight."

Ocelot struggles for several minutes - he manages to get a little more control of the arm back, so that Snake won't twist his elbow back, but he can't figure out how he's supposed to turn the tables here. Finally in exasperation he pulls his other arm around and punches Snake square in his ruined eye. Snake flinches and lets go of his arm with one hand to deflect another punch, and the second he does so, Ocelot pulls his trapped arm free and twists away until he can use his legs to keep Snake from grabbing him again.

"Good," Snake pants. He rolls to the side, squats, and waits for Ocelot to get up. "Again."

Ocelot loses the next two, but he's winning the third. Snake has tried to struggle out for more than thirty seconds - almost succeeded once, too - but Ocelot has his arms wrapped completely around Snake's torso, has trapped one arm uselessly above him, and his legs are safely keeping Snake's out of the picture. Ocelot's muscles are screaming and he's covered in bruises, but it's all worth it to feel Snake struggle and fail to wriggle out of his grip. He knows it's real, too - Snake has proven already that he won't lie to coddle him, and it's not just that he's tired, because his stamina outlasts Ocelot's any day of the week. Ocelot finally is not behind or on even footing, he finally has the upper hand.

Adam laughs, a sound of unadulterated joy. He bites a mark into the side of Snake's neck just because he can, enjoying the way Snake flinches before he can stop himself.

Snake finally admits defeat and slumps in his hold. "Alright, alright. You win. Happy?

"Yes," Ocelot smirks. He holds him for another few seconds, savoring it, and then releases him.

Snake rolls his shoulders before rising to a squat. He appraises Ocelot for a few moments and then says, "That's it for now. I'm going to go pick something up we'll need for later. Meet me back here in three hours."

Ocelot's questioning head-tilt is wasted as Snake turns away and leaves the room.

-

Three hours later, Ocelot is sitting on the couch he's turned into his bed, reading a copy of the M1911 field manual he found under an empty coffee cup, when he hears the front door open and shut. Ocelot deliberates for a few moments - should he bring anything? Sometimes they practice disarms - before strapping on the holsters that hold his revolvers, as well as his knife. With no idea what Snake has planned, he heads back to the garage and quietly opens the door.

Snake is standing over a table he's put on their practice mat. He glances over when he hears Ocelot come in, and his expression gives away nothing about what he's thinking about. Ocelot joins him in the center of the mat, and - oh.

Snake has laid out several lengths of smooth rope, and several thin wooden rods of varying width. Ocelot glances between Snake and the switches, unsure. Hadn't he already gotten enough bruises today?

"Here's the thing," Snake says. "You're pretty good - when you get over what you seem to think I expect of you. So we're going to do a little exercise." Ocelot's heart is firing on automatic, his anxious pulse heating up his face. He underestimated Snake, he didn't think he'd just want Ocelot tied up and beaten. And don't get him wrong, he wasn't opposed to the idea, especially if he'd get fucked at the end, but -

"You need to ditch the inhibitions. So, here's what we're going to do," John says, cutting into his internal panic. "You're going to tie me up, and then you're going to do whatever you want with me. Ready to start?"

What.

Ocelot wastes ten full seconds being dumbfounded and staring at John wondering if he's hallucinating. But John just fucking holds his hands out in front of him, presenting his wrists, staring him in the eyes, daring him to object.

Adam stammers the first thing that comes to mind. "I mean. Surely not whatever I want with you?" he questions.

"Of course there are limits. But I trust you. Just stop if I say."

The idea that John trusts him makes his heart sing. And the rest of John's words are going straight to his dick. Oh, he has so many ideas, and suddenly visions of John are running through his head - John on his knees, John gasping for air and choking, John straining to hold himself up with straining muscles. Where should he even start? He's wanted a chance work on him since he met him and now he's just fucking presenting himself on a silver platter and offering up willingly this thing that Adam would have never brought up, lest it ruin their budding friendship.

Adam grins from ear to ear, takes the rope from John, and gets to work. He starts with those wrists, just ripe for the taking, wraps the rope six times around them and then around the earlier rope between his wrists, then pulls the end through. John pulls on them a little bit to make sure they're tight, but otherwise just sits there, docile.

Adam turns to John's legs next - he's had some great fantasies about being crushed between them, but this is better. "Sit down," he instructs, and John obeys without question. Adam ties his knees together, a few loops matching the ones around his wrists, above and below the kneecaps. Then his ankles, the same way, and then Adam has an idea he loves. John's pretty flexible, and Adam trusts him to speak up if his joints are straining, so he ties his elbows together too, then fastens his wrists to his ankles and his elbows to his knees. Now John is actively tensing his muscles to keep from falling over. "Let's lie you down," Adam murmurs, and he gently lowers John onto his side on the ground. John stays quiet throughout it, calmly watching him with one glassy eye.

From here, John's pretty much immobilized in a jack-knifed L shape, wrists tied to ankles and knees tied to elbows, lying sideways on the practice mat. Adam has full access to his back, his ass, his neck. He steps around so that John can see him and tilts his head, considering.

"What?" John asks.

Adam pulls off his eye patch. John watches him in silence as he pops the stiff fabric the other way, then puts it back covering John's other eye.

"Ahh," Adam breathes. He takes a moment to admire the ruined flesh of John's right eye. This is the first time he's seen it since the beginning, and he kneels down and examines it with his eyes while John quietly breathes beneath him. He wants to run his fingers over it. Well, actually he wants to jam his fingers in there. But he'll play nice.

Adam picks up the second-thinnest switch. It's light in his hands, and he gives his left palm a few experimental taps and one heavy smack just to see how it feels. His palm is in agony for a split second, then the sensation is almost completely gone, and about five seconds later it settles into a deep, hot, ache. It's intense - the cane is light enough that it's easy to twist his wrist and really make it move, but heavy enough that it feels like getting kicked. John chose well.

"Hmm," Adam deliberates. Best to practice somewhere soft and invisible. No ulterior motive whatsoever. He reaches around John's waist to undo the tie of his sweatpants and pulls them down to his upper thighs, exposing his buttocks. He spends a few seconds lining up the strike - the angle makes this a little awkward - and then brings the cane down onto the meat of John's ass.

John fucking moans, which is not at all what Adam expected. He bites it off a split-second later, but that was definitely a moan. Adam waits a few seconds, then does it again, slightly lower. John moans again, a little longer this time.

Adam does it again, and again, a steady rhythm that hits just a little bit harder each time. John's moans slowly transform into yells, and by the end, clearly the pain has overridden anything else John was feeling. Adam is drunk with power. He's going to wait a few minutes, let him come down before going back in again. As a distraction, he stalks back around and kneels down in front of John's face. He looks beautiful, his lips are parted and he's drooling just a little bit, He's just barely breathing hard, a little pant that wouldn't be apparent if you didn't know him. Clearly, Adam has more work to do.

He moves silently back around behind John and waits for him to settle down. When he's recovered enough that his breathing has settled, Adam counts out thirty seconds and then hits him again in the same place, much harder than before.

John screams. Adam hits him again. That wins him a scream and a flinch. This round, he's unpredictable - he waits twenty seconds between some strokes, watching John flinch away from a strike that isn't coming yet, and then hits him four times in rapid succession, watches him actually thrash. Gives him a bit of a break, and then just barely touches him with the cane, watches him shudder and let out a strangled gasp.

"Hm," Adam comments. "How you doing down there, John?"

John breathes heavily and tilts his head back to respond. "Is this all you've got, Adam?"

Adam laughs happily, admiring the way deep purple bruises are spreading across John's skin, proof of his work. "We're only getting started."

Over the next hour, Adam systematically whips every piece of John he can easily reach, and some he can't. He works his way down John's back, starting at his shoulders and moving slowly, slowly down, making sure there's a mark to the left and right of every vertebrae. He goes over his already-bruised ass again, too, just to watch him scream and thrash. He cuts the legs of John's sweatpants off and smacks the backs of his calves until they're twitching involuntarily. He pauses after that to give John a break, wraps one gloved hand around his neck and just feels his ragged breathing.

Adam cups John's face with his other hand and thumbs over his ruined eye, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. John convulses violently, and makes a sound that starts as a growl and ends as a whimper. It's not the same thing as torture. He isn't trying to compel something specific from him. And this pain is nothing to John. If an actual captor did this to him, Adam had no doubt they'd have gotten absolutely no reaction out of him so far. But the fact that John apparently trusts him enough to let himself react naturally to this relatively minor pain was an incredible rush.

Adam keeps running his thumb over the empty eye socket, feeling the way the mangled skin is still healing. With his other hand, he squeezes John's neck briefly, then lets go. "This still okay?" he asks. "Your joints must be getting sore."

John seems to be trying to remember how speaking works. Finally, he rasps, "Keep going."

You don't need to tell Adam twice. Adam picks up the thin switch again, kneels down next to John's feet, and slaps it harshly against the ball of his left foot. John lets out a strangled yell of surprise. Adam alternates sporadically between each foot, watching the way John's entire body flinches away from the contact. When John's breathing is ragged again, he goes a few more times and then pauses. There is not an inch of visible skin that isn't bruised. He leans down over John's back and he can feel heat radiating off of him in waves. John's hands are clenched into fists, down where they're restrained near his ankles. Adam reaches out his hand and runs his flat palm all the way up John's bruised back, from his ass to his neck.

John's moan is the loudest it's been so far that night: a piteous, sensual plea. Adam laughs, and walks back around to John's front. He charitably moves the eye patch back to cover the correct eye. John's eye is unfocused and dilated, and there are tears pooling in the space between his eye and his nose. Still, there's strength and determination in his gaze. They're not done.

"Can you sit up?" Adam asks curiously.

John grunts and struggles. He flinches when he rolls slightly too far and his entire back screams in protest. He slumps back down, and mutters, "Not by myself."

Adam grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him up. John groans as weight is put on his whipped legs and backside. He starts tilting back over when Adam lets go, so Adam leans him against a thick table leg. Then he thinks better of it and ties him to it, a few quick loops around his chest and the wooden leg. John slumps against the ropes immediately, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his back.

Adam has been hard for a while, but this sight alone nearly tips him over the edge: John, slumped over and only keeping himself upright by leaning on his bonds, the strength of his arms and legs all made useless by Adam's work. From this perspective, it almost looks like he's bowing; he's sitting on slightly bent legs, and the fact that his wrists and elbows are locked to his ankles and knees forces him to lean over and bow his head. Adam knows he's going to have to untie him soon - he'd hate to do permanent damage to him - but there's one last thing he wants to do.

He nudges John's hands with his foot. "Palms," he says quietly.

John drags his head up to look at him - he's tired, and in pain, and he visibly deliberates about calling this whole thing off - but then he bows his head again and opens his hands, holding them out as much as he can with his wrists still strapped to his ankles.

Adam runs his own fingers over John's palms, briefly, feeling the tension in them. He pets them smoothly, like he's laying out a canvas he wants to be flat. John has almost stopped quivering when Adam delivers the first strike.

John's hands snap shut, and his entire body flinches back, then cringes forward, caught between the switch in Adam's grip and the welts he's already left on him. Adam waits patiently, and John seems to understand what he's waiting for, because as soon as he can control himself he obediently opens his shaking hands again.

Adam hits his palms four more times. John manages to hold them open, despite the way his entire body shudders with every hit.

Adam unties the chest bindings tying him to the table leg first. When John realizes Adam's done, he curls in on himself as much as he can, dry sobs making his shoulders quiver. Adam undoes his other bindings slowly, inspecting the skin underneath and rubbing sensation into his limbs. Adam coaxes him into lying flat on his stomach, taking all the pressure off his welts. Adam leaves him for a few moments and comes back with a lighter, a cigar, and a glass of water, the last of which he tips into John's mouth and holds it until John swallows. When he's drained the glass, John slumps back down to the floor, completely exhausted.

Adam sits there with him for nearly an hour. When John looks coherent again, he glances up at Adam and says softly, "That was good."

"Yeah," Adam says fervently. He takes the cigar, warms it up on the lighter's flame, then puffs lightly on it to light it. He offers it to John.

John takes it gratefully. "You're getting there, kid." His eye closes and for a moment Adam sees a much younger man, one who is simply content. Then he stares at Adam and smiles wickedly. "Of course, anything you dish out, you have to be willing to take."

"Bring it on."

-

Ocelot wakes before Snake the next day. He makes coffee and eggs and saves some for Snake - it's only fair, after what he did to him yesterday.

Snake emerges from his room a half-hour later than usual, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. He mechanically consumes the offered eggs and coffee, and Ocelot has a chance to inspect his back while he eats. He never broke the skin, but there are dark red purplish marks covering every inch of skin Ocelot can see. Ocelot swallows. Sitting must be incredibly painful for Snake as well, though Snake hasn't offered a single complaint.

Snake pushes out his chair and announces, "We're going for a run today."

"CQC cross-training, hmm?" Ocelot asks glibly.

"Sort of. Bring your gun, bring your knife. We're leaving in five minutes.

Ocelot shrugs and goes to collect his things.

The first twenty minutes pass in silence. It's a beautiful day, pleasantly cool despite the humidity. Snake begins on a path through the woods, and then departs the path and starts blazing his own trail over leafy, foamy ground. Ocelot is forced to keep pace; he's done his best memorizing the path so far, but the longer they go, the more of this forest seems to be exactly the same, and Ocelot is half-convinced they're just going in circles.

After an hour, Ocelot is very winded and struggling to keep up. True, Ocelot isn't exactly a distance runner. But Snake has to be hurting enough that he isn't going to be running a marathon. Ocelot can only hope. Snake has slowed down for him, at least.

At ninety minutes, Ocelot stumbles. He forces himself up, he's not going to make Snake stop on his account. And they still have to get back somehow. He nearly says something - how can you possibly keep going when every motion of your legs and back must be agony, not to mention you're still not fully recovered from multiple broken bones and a lost eye - but he already knows that Snake will keep going through anything until he drops dead, so he doesn't fuss.

Finally, after two full hours, Ocelot collapses. Snake crouches down next to him and offers him water from a bottle Ocelot has no idea where he's been keeping. Ocelot drinks it gratefully. They wait several minutes for Ocelot's heart rate to calm down to safe levels, then Snake crouches and forms his hands into claws.

Ocelot raises his eyebrows. "You can't be serious?"

But he is. They practice CQC out here, surrounded by trees that are honestly nostalgic of Tselinoyarsk. Ocelot actually manages to hold his own, but he's on defense the whole time, and he's completely spent after about twenty minutes.

Snake still fucking manages to stand there like he's enjoying a calm afternoon walk. He even pulls a cigar from his pocket, lights it, and starts smoking while Ocelot pants on his knees.

Snake puffs on the cigar and looks down at him. "One more thing, while we're out here," he says. Ocelot glances up - Snake's voice seems different than before. It has a hint of menace: "I still need to pay you back from yesterday," Snake says.

Fuck.

Snake trails a hand down Ocelot's front, and then faster than Ocelot can see, unsnaps his holster and pulls out his revolver.

"Hey -" Ocelot protests, but Snake's hand reaches out and pushes Ocelot back, and in his weakened, unbalanced state, it's enough to knock him on his ass. He watches Snake carefully as he opens the cylinder and dumps the bullets out into his hand, pockets them, then snaps the cylinder back into place. He deliberately aims at the ground, then pulls the hammer back and squeezes the trigger twelve times, as if to reassure himself that the gun was empty.

Snake points the empty gun at him. "Get back up on your knees," he says.

Ocelot smiles, puts his hands up in mock surrender, and gets back on his knees. He raises his eyebrows at Snake.

"I see you took my advice," Snake says. "This gun suits you."

Ocelot tries not to preen too much at that.

"Why not a double-action model?"

Ocelot flushes, and doesn't answer. The truth - that he'd fallen in love with the SAA when Snake had finally accepted him using it - still sounds a little too ridiculous for him to say out loud to Snake's face.

"Infatuated with the single-action army when I suggested it to you, huh?" Snake says mockingly.

Ocelot nods tersely.

Snake appraises him. "You love them," he murmurs. Out of nowhere, Snake's free hand shoots out to strike him across the face.

Ocelot yells, and is then promptly stunned into silence as Snake does it again. When Ocelot opens his mouth again to tell Snake to knock it the fuck off, Snake shoves the barrel of the gun in his mouth and grabs the back of his neck, keeping him from pulling away.

Ocelot gags violently and tries to throw Snake off with both of his hands. Snake lets him, and Ocelot doubles over, barely keeping himself from retching. Snake watches, idly twirling the gun on his index finger. "Snake -" Ocelot starts, but the second he's recovered and opens his mouth again, Snake has shoved the gun back in there.

The first time, he had barely registered the sensation of metal hitting the back of his throat before he reacted and got it out. The second time is worse. It's not as much of a surprise and so he has time to notice other things like the bitter taste of oil and metal, and the jarring feeling as it collides with his teeth. Ocelot pulls his head back and recoils. He coughs again and looks up at Snake, who's advancing on him calmly, twirling the gun again.

It's now that Ocelot realizes that Snake's getting ready to do it again, and that the only two endings to this scenario are letting Snake do what he wants, or actually fighting him. That last thought sends a weary tremor through him - he's long past the ability to put up a fair fight, and he can run only as far as Snake will let him run.

So, he groans, rolls back onto his knees, and looks at Snake expectantly. If he's going to do it, he's doing it on his terms. Snake smirks and brings the muzzle to Ocelot's lips. Ocelot's going to make Snake regret this. He kisses the tip, mouthing it softly, before opening his throat and swallowing it as far as he could go.

Now that he's doing it intentionally, it's not so bad. It tastes awful, but Ocelot's had worse. It's thin, but long, and unyielding as it hits the back of his throat. Ocelot concentrates hard on reaching his tongue over to Snake's extended trigger finger, licking it, which eventually turns into an extended tongue massage as Ocelot tries desperately to suppress his gag reflex. He locks eyes with Snake, daring him with his eyes to say something. Justify this.

"Hmm," Snake comments. As Ocelot drools and tries to keep from retching, Snake guides him with his other hand to his hands and knees, keeping his head tilted up. Ocelot's legs are shaking beneath him, but they hold him up for now. Snake guides the revolver a fraction of an inch deeper. Then he grins, and tells Ocelot, "Keep this here." He pats Ocelot condescendingly on the cheek a couple of times, but removes his hand from the gun, leaving Ocelot to hold it lodged in his mouth on his own. Ocelot gags, pushing it out a bit, but clamps down with his teeth to keep it from slipping any further. He's damned if he's going to let Snake get to him over this.

Snake walks around behind Ocelot and for a horrifying second, Ocelot thinks Snake is just going to leave him there, come back an indeterminate amount of time later, see if he managed to maintain the pose. But thankfully, Snake just kneels back down behind him, and starts pulling Ocelot's pants down to his knees.

Ocelot makes a fevered whining sound when lubed fingers start poking into his hole. He can hardly breathe, with this gun lodged in his throat. He can barely think between focusing on holding the gun in his mouth and the way his whole body aches and protests at the very act of holding himself up, not to mention two slick fingers sliding into him that are picking up speed by the second. Snake's moving quickly now, pistoning his fingers into Ocelot's ass until Ocelot is shaking all over and his cock has filled out and hangs hard between his legs. He adds another finger and Ocelot nearly falls forward onto his face; he's coming apart at the seams and can barely hold himself together.

Snake stills his fingers inside Ocelot and leans over his back. "Can I fuck you?" Snake whispers, right into Ocelot's ear. Ocelot tries to communicate an enthusiastic yes, it comes out as a "yhhhhrg" and a shaky thumbs-up. Snake pulls his fingers out - Ocelot twitches - and brings them up to Ocelot's chin, holding the handle of the revolver in place. No, not holding it in place, he's gently maneuvering it in and out of Ocelot's mouth like he's fucking him with it.

Snake starts pushing his cock into Ocelot's entrance, and Ocelot loses his mind. It's so much, with his entire body about to collapse and the stretch to his rim and the gun fucking him from the front. Snake just pushes inexorably forward, until he's fully seated. He pulls back equally slowly - Ocelot's groaning, he can hardly take it - and when Snake snaps his hips forward and thrusts all the way back in in one split second, Ocelot actually sees white for a few seconds.

"I wonder how long I could keep you like this," Snake muses aloud, against the back of Ocelot's neck. "Just barely able to keep going. Should we see?"

One of Ocelot's arms gives out, and he barely manages to keep himself from slamming into the ground. The gun clatters down, and Ocelot manages two sweet gasps before Snake's hand closes over his mouth and pulls his head back up. Once it's clear Ocelot isn't going to collapse, Snake fucks him furiously. Ocelot sucks in air through his nose frantically, almost feeling like he's going to explode. Snake's going to fuck him until he just bursts. He licks over Snake's palm and realizes that he can feel the raised lines from the switch he'd whipped him with the night before. Fuck.

Some spare iota of thought makes Ocelot realize that he's close to coming and Snake hasn't even touched him. He pushes back with Snake's thrusts, makes these pathetic little "mmh mmh mmh!" noises against his hand. He's on the verge of orgasm and Snake just stops.

Ocelot would have screamed were it not for the hand over his mouth, and as it is, a frustrated high-pitched keen does make it through. Snake, the bastard, laughs. "I bet you could stay like this for hours." When Ocelot starts struggling against Snake's hold on him, Snake says serenely, "Why did you pick the single action army?"

It's all Ocelot can do to keep from laughing incoherently. Of course. Leave it to Snake to make this an interview. He wrenches his head away from Snake's hand and says, "Of course it's because of you, you asshole." Once the words start, he can't stop them from continuing. "I wouldn't have come here like I did if I weren't going to offer you my loyalty, John. All of it. Fuck nations and soldiers. You're better. Now, can you please fuck me?"

Snake has the gall to look taken aback, but he finally shuts up and fucks him in earnest. Before long, Ocelot has lost his brief moment of coherence and starts babbling nonsense. When he comes, it's so hard he sees stars, and afterward he collapses, only held up by Snake's arm. Snake thrusts unhurriedly into him for another several minutes while Ocelot catches his breath. Finally, Snake pulls out and comes in long ribbons across Ocelot's back.

Snake pulls Ocelot's pants back up. Ocelot is far past being able to move at this point, so Snake just scoops him up in his arms and starts carrying him. Once he has a bit of energy back, Ocelot pulls Snake's face down, leans in, and presses a kiss to his mouth. It's nice. Ocelot's tongue explores Snake's teeth and Snake lets him bite his bottom lip. Then Snake tilts him in more and kisses Ocelot deeply, sucking the breath right out of him. Ocelot gasps when he's released.

"I was serious, you know," Ocelot says softly. "Ever since I met you, I knew no one else was ever going to matter like you did. I'd die for you. Probably will."

Snake looks at him, really looks at him, and Ocelot never gets tired of the way he does everything with every fiber of his being. "I know," Snake says. "I know what I should tell you. She'd tell you that that's no way for a soldier to think. She was completely devoted to her country. The perfect soldier, even when it turned her against her friends. Her family."

Ocelot smiles at him faintly. "But like I said. I don't want her. I want you."

"Loyalty to the end," Snake muses.

Ocelot kisses him again. Snake kisses back.

And Ocelot's already thinking about what he's going to do to Snake once he can move again.