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It’s one of those summer nights in the desert. The crickets are inexplicably louder than usual and the moonlight reflecting off the desolate landscape fills the entire room. Too bright. Scout, restless, turns onto his side again, having lost count of how many times he tossed and turned trying to find sleep.
He opens his eyes and glances at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. The display glares back at him, glowing in the dark. 2:39 AM.
He’d blame the low hum of the ceiling fan overhead, but he knows what’s keeping him awake is something else entirely. It’s nagging at him from the back of his mind. He can’t seem to stop thinking about his strange encounter with the team’s Sniper earlier in the day, replaying the event in his head over and over again, trying to make sense of it.
* * *
“Oi Scout,” the Sniper had called out to him in the locker rooms after the work day was over, as he took off his shirt and handed it to him, “You’re on washer duty this week, yeah? Mind taking this to the laundry?”
Scout’s attention went from the shirt, then briefly to Sniper, then back to the shirt, trying his hardest not to stare at the other man’s bare chest. Trying not to think about how it would feel to trace his deep scars with his fingers. Trying not to think about what the thin sheen of sweat on his skin would taste like.
Play it cool, Jeremy. Don’t be a weirdo. Scout shrugged, putting on his best nonchalant facade.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gimme your stupid shirt.” Sniper chuckled quietly as Scout rolled his eyes and snatched the shirt off his hands. “'Sides, ain’t like I can say ‘no’ anyways, right? Soldier’s been on my ass about it all freakin’ week, and I’m all like, I know Solly, no need to remind me every five freakin’ minutes, I’ll get to it when I get to it, and all that, y’know.”
“Scout. Mate. You don’t have to pretend that hard.”
“W-wait, wait, okay-uh, what d’you mean, pretend? I ain’t pretendin’ nothin’, pal!” Scout accentuated that last word as he felt blood rush to his cheeks and ears. Sniper was now looking right at him, his lips curled into a smile he could have sworn was mocking him.
“Surely you’re not that upset about doing me a favour.”
Scout fell silent, fists clenched, brows furrowed, opening and closing his mouth, trying to come up with a retort. Like a dumb freakin’ carp, he thought. It seemed the Sniper always found ways to disarm him.
Sniper chuckled again, “I’m taking the piss, Scout. Just wanted to wind you up a bit. No need to crack the shits, ya mongrel.” He gave Scout’s shoulder a squeeze, then a vigorous tap, then put on a clean undershirt and started walking away.
“Y-yeah, right, duh, I totally know that! You’re real freakin’ funny sometimes, man.” Scout laughs nervously. “I-uh, I’ll see you around, Snipes.” The marksman barely looked over his shoulder as he waved and walked out of the locker room. Scout stared blankly at the empty doorway and fidgeted with the shirt for a little while, before looking down and realizing that he had been crumpling it.
Scout truly felt like the Sniper could read his mind sometimes, and the thought of that alone was intoxicating and made him all the more hot and bothered.
He had been so flustered by their exchange, that instead of adding it to the pile of soiled clothes and linens waiting for him in the laundry room, Scout took the Sniper’s dirty shirt with him, brought it into his bedroom, and promptly stuffed it under his bed along with his various porn magazines.
* * *
With a resigned sigh, Scout reaches under his bed and pulls out Sniper’s shirt.
He lifts his own undershirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it across the room, leaving him only in his underwear.
He feels a bit stupid and ashamed. Right now, he’s a ridiculous, almost naked man with another guy’s dirty shirt in his hands. Not just any guy though, he thinks. He brings the shirt to his face. It smells… Manly. With a slight hint of cologne. Scout isn’t sure what he expected, nevertheless he closes his eyes and takes in the musky aroma of the shirt. He feels his dick twitch lazily as arousal pools low in his belly.
His hands wander leisurely down his now bare chest and hover above his lower abdomen, fingers barely touching his increasingly sensitive skin. After a moment of anticipation, he exhales as his fingers ghost teasingly over the outline of his cock forming on his underwear. A shuddering jolt goes through his body, imagining that it’s someone else teasing him.
He thinks about Sniper’s hands. They’re large and calloused. He wonders if the usually gloved hand is softer than the other one. He wonders which hand the Sniper uses to pleasure himself. Scout presses his own hand onto his length, trembling and throbbing as it grows stiffer. The delicious friction draws out a shaky gasp out of him.
He’s seen Sniper naked, alright. Stealing glances in the showers, lingering on his body while changing in the locker rooms. When he saw Sniper’s cock for the first time, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. What he thought was envy for the man’s relatively well-endowed features gradually revealed itself to also be plain, libidinous desire. Scout has been desperately wanting Sniper for a few months now; he has all but abandoned the skin mags under his bed, instead fantasizing about his teammate’s tan, rugged body, and all the things he wants to do to him. And all the things he wants Sniper to do to him.
“Shit...” Scout pants, grinding up against his open palm, the thin layer of cotton between his hand and his cock both too stimulating and not intense enough, tempting him to just give in to his basest desires and slide off his undergarments, take himself in hand and jerk off furiously.
But not yet. Not yet.
What if Sniper saw him like this? He imagines his teammate walking in on him. He’d see Scout, his own shirt next to his face, flushed and unmistakably contorted in pleasure. He’d immediately put two and two together. He’d see, laid bare before him, just how much Scout hungers for him.
His fingers curl around his aching hard cock. With a breathy moan, he grips it through his briefs, starting by slowly rubbing himself, then easing into a decent rhythm.
Maybe Sniper would be disgusted with just how depraved he really is. Maybe he’d try to stop him from touching himself, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head. Scout would only make the matter worse as he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from moaning and whimpering. He’d buck and thrash under the Sniper’s weight, imploring the man to please just touch him.
But maybe, and he wants this to be true so bad, Sniper is just as lecherous and perverted as he is. Maybe he’d be aroused at the sight of Scout pleasuring himself so wantonly. Maybe he’d pin his wrists with one hand and use the other one to roughly slide the runner’s briefs off his strong, lean thighs, and expose his eager—
At last, Scout succumbs to his own urges and mirrors his fantasy by aggressively tugging off his underwear, freeing his cock, which is by now throbbing and slick with pre-cum, and it feels so good when he uses his thumb to smear the glistening fluid all over his cockhead. He whines as he finally grips himself and starts stroking in earnest.
Maybe upon seeing just how hard Scout was for him, Sniper’s lips would curl into a smile, this time not a mocking smile but an approving one, his sharp canines showing. Maybe he’d finally look at him with a lascivious, heavy-lidded gaze.
Maybe he’d let Scout suck him off.
Scout would make sure to tease the marksman at first. He’d take his sweet-ass time; Scout would run his tongue through the crease between the Sniper’s thighs and his groin, impossibly close to the man’s raging hard-on, breathing all over it, and then he’d draw his tongue over Sniper’s entire length agonisingly slowly from base to tip, lingering on his head when he finally reaches it and giving it a few light, quick licks. He’d make it unbearably provocative, just to get a reaction out of the Sniper—almost as revenge for what happened earlier in the day—who would eventually lose patience and finally grab Scout’s head and push his cock into his mouth.
He imagines Sniper fucking his face, rough fingers pulling on his short hair. With his low, dangerous voice he would comment on finally finding a way to shut him up; maybe he’d even say that Scout’s pretty mouth is being put to good use.
“Aw fuck, fuck, ah, f-fuck…” Scout lets out a litany of moans and profanities. The thought of being praised at all makes his head spin. He bucks upwards into his own hand to meet his strokes, letting out lewd sounds that he makes little effort to hide as he gets lost in a lustful haze.
Sniper wouldn’t be loud like him, he would grunt and groan animalistically as he’d thrust deeper into Scout’s mouth and hit the back of his throat repeatedly. Scout would take his entire length into his mouth like the champ he is. Of course he would. Using the flat of his tongue and swallowing around the Sniper’s throbbing member he’d try his hardest to coax at least one real moan out of the other man.
He’d make him admit that it felt good, that his mouth felt good.
Sniper wouldn’t be able to last much longer; he would push Scout’s face flush against his crotch as he thrusts towards his climax, and he'd finally shoot his load down the other man’s throat, groaning in pleasure. And Scout would greedily swallow it all. He imagines each spurt of Sniper’s hot cum hitting the back of his throat and it almost makes him go over the edge. Almost.
“A-ah, shit, ngh…” With a strained grunt, Scout stops and lets go of himself. Jerking off is usually an ordeal that’s quick, frantic and distinctly tinted with guilt for him—he was raised as a good Catholic boy after all—but this time he wants to indulge in the forbidden pleasure of it all, to make it last. As if to prove some kind of point. As if to impress the absent man with how much stamina he can muster.
If only Sniper could see him like this.
Maybe, as a reward for getting him off with just his mouth, Sniper would finally touch him. He’d run his rough fingers over his lean chest, surprisingly tender, and Scout would no doubt melt under the caresses. His own hands move to his over-sensitive nipples, imagining Sniper’s hot mouth on them, his rough tongue tracing delicious patterns that would make him lose his mind entirely. Another shudder goes through his body.
After deciding that he’s teased the Scout enough, Sniper would run his hands down his chest and towards his groin, and—at long last—take Scout’s obscenely hard, leaking cock into his strong hand. The one that’s usually gloved.
“Holy shit,” Scout gasps as he once again wraps his hand around his cock, and strokes himself with more vigor than ever. His other hand travels down, stimulating his perineum as his fingers get closer to his entrance. He doesn’t dare finger himself, instead tracing teasing circles around his puckered hole. He grits his teeth as pure lust takes over him.
Sniper would do what he doesn’t dare to do. He’d tell Scout to open his mouth and then he’d slide two fingers in there to slick them with his spit. Then he would breach him, with one finger first, and then with the other joining in. Sniper would fill him just right, and he’d compliment him on how tight he is, and how he’s always wanted to fuck him senseless.
“Yes, oh my god,” Scout cries out. Fuck, he really would do just about anything to hear such praise from the man himself.
Scout closes his eyes as he pants and moans, thrusting into his own hand with reckless abandon, still imagining that it’s Sniper’s hands all over him. It feels so good. It feels amazing. It’s blowing his goddamn mind. He wants to beg the Sniper to keep going, faster, harder, and—
Then suddenly—another image appears in his head, impossibly more vivid than any of the previous ones.
The Sniper would simply relax in the chair across his room. Silently watching him. His inscrutable yet piercing eyes would be fixated on him and only him; Scout tenses up and squeezes himself harder, toes curling, feeling his release fast approaching.
“O-oh my god, ah- Snipes, p-please…”
Watching him, flushed, sweat-soaked, panting heavily, pumping himself frantically and desperately, gasping Sniper’s name over and over again.
Watching him unravel completely in front of him.
Scout comes with a shuddering whimper, painting his chest with copious amounts of his own seed. He slumps back down onto his bed, riding out the aftershocks of his climax as he takes deep breaths through the fabric of Sniper’s shirt, and—for the first time—he absently entertains the idea of being held by the man.
He’s never had an orgasm this intense before.
As his breathing settles down, Scout opens his eyes and stares blankly at the ceiling fan spinning gently above him. He then glances at the empty chair across the room. With a sharp breath, he gets out of bed and carelessly wipes cum and sweat off his chest with Sniper’s shirt. Whatever, it’s fine, it’s going in the wash regardless, he’s not gonna know, he reasons with himself guiltily. For a split second Scout thinks of Sniper wearing the shirt with his cum still on it, then shakes his head as if to banish the thought out of it. He walks to his room’s single small window, and props it open to let the chill nightly desert breeze through.
Scout stares out the window. From here, he can see the Sniper’s campervan in the distance, almost out of view.
From here, he can see the van is lit from the inside.
Scout sighs.
He grabs a towel, wraps it around his waist and heads to the showers.