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When Revolver Ocelot came to, the first thing he realized was the darkness. He blinked a few times, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his head. There was a slight spasm to his left arm, tingling with electricity, like getting shocked.
They had been scouting for business space – so to speak – at Shadow Moses Island, preparing for Liquid Snake’s terror plans; he, Liquid and Psycho Mantis. Ocelot remembered seeing coils sparking alive from the cracks of metal casing of some device he wasn’t familiar with. He had found it in what he dubbed would be the Interrogation Room. Had he touched it? Had he got shocked? He couldn’t remember.
Though he swore to God, if this was one of Mantis’s mind-control fuckeries, he’d rip the gas mask off that smug face and put a bullet right between his eyes.
Adjusting to the blackness, Ocelot noticed that it wasn’t actually pitch black. There was a line of dim light a short way in front of him, akin to light creeping below a door. At least he wasn’t blind, then. He sat up carefully, feeling around. The floor seemed to be of a metallic substance, as did the wall he felt close by. Running a gloved hand up the wall, he stood up, slowly making his way to the beam of light.
Revolver Ocelot’s trademark cowboy spurs jingled softly with each heavy step, creating an echo. A small room then, he deduced, probably all metal judging by the sound. The wall, or panel, which he thought to be a door, didn’t have any kind of handle on it. It was made of the same smooth metal as every other surface in this confinement. Ocelot got down to his knees, leather boots creaking, and tried to peer to the other side of the door. But he couldn’t get his eyes low enough to see anything from the slit.
A thought occurred to him. He set to walk around the room, right hand along the wall. He measured it to be about eight paces long and three paces wide. Unholstering one of his Colt Single Action Army revolvers, he removed a bullet by hand. He was not going to fire it in the room; he’d probably be ricocheted to death if the walls really were metallic. But he tossed it upwards, and heard it connect with the ceiling. It wasn’t a very high ceiling.
Putting all this information together, he got the idea that the room was more of a box instead of a room. A metallic, large box. Like a shipping container. How the hell had he ended up inside of a locked shipping container?
Luckily he didn’t have to think about that for long, when a metallic sound from the outside signaled that the hatch was being opened. The container door was opened, flooding dim light into Ocelot’s blue eyes. The hinges creaked, but there was no one to be seen. He readied his weapons nonetheless, and made his way out.
“Drop your weapons!” came a voice behind him. With a harrumph, Ocelot raised his hand, slowly placing his gun on the ground. Taking in his surroundings, he seemed to be in some kind of a warehouse, with plenty of other shipping containers. The facility didn’t seem to be in active use, judged by the grey mat of dust collecting over surfaces. There was black plastic plastered to the line of windows, but some of it had peeled off, letting small columns of sunlight in the warehouse. The place didn’t seem like it was in Alaska.
“Who are you?!” the voice behind him – which sounded quite familiar – demanded. A man, a young man, Ocelot surmised, maybe a rookie.
“Depends on who you are,” Ocelot rasped, turning his head to get a glimpse of his would-be assailant.
He was right; it was a young soldier behind him, dressed in basic green drabs, pointing an S&W Model 39 pistol at Ocelot with a very serious face. A very familiar face with a pair of deep blue eyes peering under dark eyebrows and dark brown hair.
“John?” Ocelot scoffed, disbelieving. He looked like when they had first met in Tselinoyarsk, over 40 years ago. Or was this John even younger than that?
The rookie cocked his gun, shoulders tensing. “How do you know my name? Are you a part of the mission? And what were you doing in that container?” he asked, trying to sound more confident than he actually was.
Ocelot turned around, still keeping his hands raised, although if this really was John... He couldn’t be wrong about that stance though, the way the soldier held himself. It had to be John. But… how?
“Now that’s an awful lot of questions in one go,” Ocelot drawled with some amusement. “When interrogating someone, try asking just one question at a time. Like this; what is today’s date?”
The soldier hesitated, lowering his pistol just a fragment. “…February 29th, 1960,” he answered with some reluctance.
“See? A lot easier to get a single answer,” Ocelot said, trying to hide the shock of John’s – it had to be – answer. 1960? Had Ocelot somehow traveled back in time? Because the date and the young man in front of him would make sense. It had been February 29th, Leap Day, when they arrived at Shadow Moses too, only the year was wrong. Forty-four years backwards.
The young soldier stood in silence, reflecting on the strange, half-military, half-cowboy man he was confronted with. Ocelot let his eyes wander up and down John’s body. It was definitely John, apparently four years younger than when they first met. Interesting. He had already bulked up some muscle, but wasn’t as buff as Ocelot remembered.
“Could I put my hands down? Old man like me, it’s starting to ache,” Ocelot groaned, already playing a game. Let the victim believe they’re in charge, that they could overpower you easily. Let them believe they’re pulling the shots, without noticing that they’re being manipulated into those actions.
John lowered his weapon, putting it back in its holster, signaling Ocelot to be at (relative ease). He kept his blue eyes trained on Ocelot though, ready to spring back into action if he did anything funny. The boy had no idea.
“Are you a part of the mission? Is that why you know my name?” John asked warily. Ocelot had no clue about the mission John kept talking about, but he’d play along.
“Yes, John. I know a great deal about you,” he said, tilting his head to the side. He didn’t remember reading about any other missions in John’s files before the Virtuous Mission.
“So tell me, John,” Ocelot started, quickly trying to find the right words to thread into his apparent disguise. “How did you find the briefing for this mission? What did the Boss tell you?”
John startled visibly at the name of his mentor. A small victory for Ocelot.
“I, uh, received a very vague briefing.” John’s posture relaxed. Was he starting to trust Ocelot?
“It’s a test of sorts, she said, and if I clear this, I’ll ‘become a man’,” he continued, drawing quote marks with his gloved fingers. Ocelot raised his silver eyebrows. A test? Become a man? The gears in Ocelot’s brain started to spin.
“But she couldn’t say what the mission exactly entails. Said the mission parameters vary for everyone doing it.” John was clearly uncomfortable with such vague terms, Ocelot could hear it in the slight wavering of his voice.
“Mind if I pick that up? It’s a… collector’s item,” he said in a soft tone, pointing at his revolver on the dusty concrete. John sprang into action, walking over to pick up the weapon himself.
“A Single Action Army, huh? This is a nice weapon,” he admired, giving the revolver back to its owner.
“The greatest handgun ever made,” Ocelot started, twirling the weapon with a flourish back into its place. He could see the spark of admiration light up in John’s eyes at the display.
“So you’re still a virgin,” Ocelot stated flatly. John jumped at that, a bright pink flush spreading across his features.
“How does that have to do with anything?!” he asked, voice rising in pitch. Ocelot chuckled. It was true, then. He could see now why John had been so unresponsive to his subtle advantages during operation Snake Eater. He probably didn’t have a clue. Ocelot clasped his hands behind his back, starting to pace.
“Becoming a man. That’s what this mission of yours is about, isn’t it?” he pressed, enjoying how John tried to keep his composure.
“I-I don’t see how you could help with that,” young John flustered. “You’re a man!”
Ocelot paused his steps, peering intently at the younger man. Dense didn’t begin to cut it. Oblivious was more like it. Or perhaps totally fucking clueless would be an apt description of John right now. Being at the point in his life as he was, Ocelot could now appreciate this fact. He saw it as an opportunity being presented to him on a silver platter with bows and ribbons. Ocelot had no idea how long he’d stay in this timeline, so he might as well have some fun with it.
“Really now, John. You’ve never read any naughty magazines? You’ve never fantasized about boys?”
John looked away, blushing even harder.
“Not even once? A handsome teammate, ready to help you out with anything you might need,” Ocelot purred, taking a slow step towards John, the long hem of his coat softly rustling behind him.
“An instructor, maybe, an older man, making you sweaty all over with his drills, following you into the showers to continue his lesson…” he continued suggesting, taking immense pleasure in the way John’s face burned with shame.
“Come now, John, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Ocelot said, that raspy voice dropping deeper, still nearing his prey until he could hear John’s breathing become audible. He dared to slip a hand on John’s slim waist, before asking,
“Do you accept your mission, John?”
Blue eyes darted to meet Ocelot’s, unspoken desire blazing in them, before John averted his eyes again. He gave Ocelot the slightest nod, balling his fists as if bracing for a strike to come. Ocelot slid his hand further around John’s waist, leaning in close until his white moustache almost bristled against John’s ear.
“Relax, John. I’ll take good care of you,” he purred, voice hot like molten lava. John’s breath quickened at that, not that his body exactly relaxed any. Ocelot went straight for the kill, gently squeezing John’s groin with his free hand, keeping him in place at the waist.
“A hand is a hand, right?” Ocelot hummed, beginning to feel John’s prick through his fatigues. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a woman or a man.”
John swallowed and leaned ever so slightly into the touch. Ocelot could feel his cock fill beneath the layers of cloth from such simple stimulation. How lovely youth was, he mused to himself. Pushing on, he undid John’s trousers, freeing his rising erection, and in a moment of considerateness also pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his pockets. John just stared at him when he licked his palm, but let out a quiet ‘ah’ when Ocelot’s bare hand returned to his cock.
Ocelot leaned his head in close again, inhaling John’s scent, listening intently to the small noises he made as Ocelot’s experienced hand jerked him off. He started with a leisurely slide, rubbing at the tip when his hand came back up. John’s mouth fell open slightly, hands hovering awkwardly, not knowing where to place them. Eventually he settled for Ocelot’s shoulders.
The older man smirked, teasing John’s slit with his thumb. John’s cock was already leaking with precum, and Ocelot wondered how long it must have been since the last time John had got off.
“How do you like that, John?” Ocelot inquired, flicking John’s frenulum with his thumb for good measure.
“I-it’s good,” he gasped, squeezing Ocelot’s broad shoulders.
Pleased with himself, Ocelot sped up his pace, pumping John’s cock in his fist. And sure enough, it wasn’t even a minute before John’s legs started trembling, his grip on Ocelot’s shoulders hard like steel.
“I think I’m—“ he started, panting now, but Ocelot held his stance, adding just a tinge more pressure to coax the orgasm out of John’s lither body. He leaned back a little to be able to look down at John’s cock, red and glistening wet as it bobbed in his fist.
“Go on, John, come.” And that was all the encouragement the younger man needed to tumble over with a groan, his cock spurting out white ribbons of cum, making a mess of his fatigues and Ocelot’s hand.
Ocelot felt himself starting to harden as well, looking at the lusty visage of the younger man, feeling his cock twitch and spit out last drops of his seed. John leaned into him, trying to get his breath back.
“Tsk tsk. You dirtied my hand,” Ocelot noted, raising said hand for John to see. Innocent blue eyes darted back and forth between the hand and Ocelot’s face, trying to make the connection.
“I suggest you clean it as well. Without your hands,” Ocelot added when John tried to produce a handkerchief of some kind from his pockets. His movements stilled, post-orgasmic brain trying to figure out how to do it without his hands. Ocelot licked his lips slowly, dramatically, and another rush of red appeared on John’s face.
At first, John was a little hesitant, unused to the taste. His tongue darted quickly against Ocelot’s hand, asking for approval with his blue eyes. The older man hummed, which encouraged John to put more effort in his cleaning, eventually lapping all his semen off Ocelot’s hand.
“Now that’s a good soldier. Will you do something else for me with that mouth of yours?” Ocelot asked and pressed down lightly on John’s shoulders, prompting him to fall on his knees. It was a good look for John, Ocelot decided, looking up from his knees, those blue eyes glazed over.
“It won’t bite,” he chortled, pushing his hips and the bulge in his pants closer to John’s face. John blinked a few times, huffing out a breath, nervousness obvious as he worked on Ocelot’s belts to get his dick out. Ocelot sighed contently when he felt John’s smooth hand wrap around his cock, stroking it tentatively a few times.
“With my mouth?” John asked, looking up again expectantly. Ocelot wondered what would be the best way to go about, whether he was hitting an obedience strike in John. Or was he looking for more detailed instructions? Would that get him off, detailed guidance?
“Lick it with your tongue,” Ocelot said. “Imagine what would feel good for you.” John licked chastely at the tip of his cock, smacking his lips to get a good taste.
“Salty,” he reported, before continuing. John held the hard member in his hand and licked at it, alternating between shorter licks at the base and long laves along the sides of the shaft
“Good. Now take the head in your mouth, but be careful with your teeth. I’m not into that.”
It seemed to work for John, as he quietly did what he was told. He wrapped his pink lips around the head of Ocelot’s cock, doing his best to not offend him with his teeth. Ocelot found that John’s mouth wasn’t as dry from nerves as he’d feared, and also that he was a quick study. John took his work seriously, gently sucking at the head of Ocelot’s stiff cock, pushing his head forward a bit.
“That’s right, you can take more,” Ocelot crooned, keeping his hips still for John to experiment on. For a first timer, he was doing a decent job at sucking Ocelot off. Certainly with a few more times of practice, he could even be very good. John had started to bob his head a little, trying to choreograph the movement of his head and hand together. A little whine emerged from John’s mouth, and canting his head, Ocelot found John to be hard again. Ocelot smirked. Had he been but more persistent (and obvious) forty years ago, he could have got his prize.
“Enough,” Ocelot commanded, pushing John’s head away. He released the cock in his mouth with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Blue eyes looked up at Ocelot.
“Did I… Did I fail the mission?” John asked, slightly out of breath, apparently worried about his performance. Ocelot raised an eyebrow, the pretense of a mission almost forgotten. He guffawed, caressing John’s brown strands of hair.
“No, the mission is not yet complete.”
Ocelot rummaged in the inner pockets of his long duster, procuring a bottle of gun oil. It would have to make do; he decided and shrugged the coat off, dropping it to the ground.
“Take your pants off and lie down on that,” Ocelot once again ordered, setting about removing his own. He could see John’s chest expand and contract harshly, hands balling into fists again, tensing up.
“We’re not finished yet, soldier,” Ocelot pressed and John complied, albeit slow. Whether it was his nerves or the uncertainty of the situation, Ocelot couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, after divesting himself of his trousers and boots and rucking up his shirt too, John laid himself down on his back on the ground with only Ocelot’s duster as insulation.
Ocelot carefully kneeled down (he wasn’t exactly twenty himself anymore) and pried John’s knees open to settle himself between them. John’s form was still rigid, but his erection was as strong as ever, so Ocelot didn’t really worry. He stroked the hard length a few times before sliding his hand lower to fondle John’s balls. The younger man gasped softly, his hands unclenching.
But when Ocelot dipped his fingers even lower, to John’s hole, John responded violently, his body seizing up with panic.
“What are you doing?!” he questioned, trying to wriggle away, but Ocelot had his thigh soon, holding him like a spooked colt.
“You’ve never touched yourself here?” Ocelot wondered, smoothing his hand along John’s soft thigh towards his hole. John shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.
“Why would I do that?”
Ocelot sighed, exasperated. His patience was wearing thin. Surely there was a limit to cluelessness? The man was over twenty years old after all.
“I’ll show you.” Placing the softest of touches with the tip of his finger, Ocelot gently pressed directly on John’s hole and kept his finger there until the younger man relaxed a fraction. Heartened, he started a circling motion around and along the pucker, taking note of the sparse hair his fingers found. Ocelot pulled back to apply some of the makeshift lube on his fingers, repeating his motions with a slick finger this time.
John still looked unsure and somewhat uncomfortable, but didn’t try to squirm away any more. His breath hitched when Ocelot breached the ring of muscle with his finger, straining again. The older man caressed his thigh, his hand finding John’s cock again, giving it a few strokes to distract him.
“John, relax,” came the order as Ocelot pushed his finger in deeper, prodding mildly. With a groan, John willed his muscles to relax and Ocelot used the moment to slip another finger inside. Gods, he was tight. Ocelot found himself releasing a drop of precum at just the thought of getting his dick in that virgin ass. He might be old, but this was some prime erotica splayed underneath him.
Slowly, Ocelot began to push and pull his fingers in and out of John’s hole, scissoring him open. Plunging in deeper, he searched around with his fingertips, until John jolted, clenching his ass.
“Wha- what was that?” he asked surprised, wide eyes looking down his body. Ocelot only smirked, stroking that sweet spot again, earning a gasp from John. Resuming his thrusting, he made sure to hit that special bundle of nerves each time, and soon enough John’s cock was twitching, uncontrolled moans spilling from his mouth.
“That’s—ah—I never knew—“ he rambled, running his hands over his body, but not daring to touch his cock.
“I know,” Ocelot stated and pulled his fingers out completely. John hissed at the sudden emptiness he felt in his body, muscles shuddering. He closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment, listening to Ocelot uncorking the bottle of gun oil again. John’s eyes popped open when he felt something larger and definitely harder than two fingers at his entrance. He whipped his neck to see the older man scuffling closer, holding the base of his cock.
“This might hurt at first,” Ocelot said before pressing the head of his hardness against John’s hole, adamantly pushing in. John cried out in pain, held down by Ocelot’s arm on his stomach.
“The head is the worst,” Ocelot huffed, feeling a little pain himself from the vice grip of John’s ass around his cock.
“Relax, John!” he ordered with more gusto, nudging his cock further inside the younger man. John was breathing shallowly through his mouth, hands clenching around the fabric of his jacket.
“I’m trying—“ he ground out between gritted teeth, letting out a moan when Ocelot’s hand started pumping his drooping erection back to life.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it? It does at first, the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure. But it gets better, if you let it.”
John let out a strangled noise as he could feel Ocelot’s balls touching his skin, the older man forcing his way all the way in. It hurt like hell, there was no way around it. Ocelot huffed and began to slowly pull out.
“Let’s try something else,” he decided, patting John’s leg for him to get up. This wouldn’t work. Instead, Ocelot laid down on his coat, beckoning for John to climb on top of him.
“Straddle me. It’ll be easier for you.”
John panted for breath, but did as he was told. He spread his legs on either side of Ocelot’s waist, with Ocelot helpfully unbuttoning the lower part of his waistcoat and shirt. Placing his hands on John’s narrow waist, he let the younger man take control (for the moment) and watched with rapture as John grabbed his cock and lined himself up. He started to sink down carefully, but when he was halfway down Ocelot’s cock, the older man slid his hands on John’s pert ass, lifting him back up, slow, then pushing him down again a short way.
Catching on, John started to slowly fuck himself on Ocelot’s cock, one hand on Ocelot’s thigh for stability. Ocelot kept caressing and kneading his glutes, gradually noticing John’s movements become less and less tense. He was still keeping a slow pace, but each time lowered himself closer to Ocelot’s body, tiny moans starting to pierce through his panting. Ocelot was also pleased to notice how John’s dick was fully engorged again, blood-filled veins showing through the thin skin.
“Ah, I—ah, I think I’m – getting the hang of this,” John panted out, piercing himself on Ocelot’s hardness again and again. The older man grinned, he too breathing rougher now, rubbing his hands on John’s flushed body.
“You know what they say, don’t you; save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
John whined at that, but whether it was because of excitement or the lame pun, Ocelot didn’t know. Not that it mattered anyway, with the velvety heat around his cock, this man he loved—
Ocelot sternly stopped that thought. The young man currently impaling himself on his dick was not the man he loved. This was a dream, this wasn’t real. He even considered not shooting Mantis, if this was his doing. This was a fantasy, where deeper feelings had no place.
Annoyed at himself, Ocelot grasped John’s hips tightly and started to thrust upwards in a harsh pace. John stilled, hissing at the sudden change in force. The wet slap of skin on skin was now clearly audible in the warehouse, as Ocelot drove hard in John’s body. John didn’t meet his thrusts, but instead tried to move around a little, and let out a sinful noise when Ocelot’s cock brushed against that sweet spot from earlier.
“Can I touch myself?” John pleaded, his neglected cock leaking, all ready to burst. Ocelot just grunted in approval, John’s hand immediately flying around his cock, starting to pump vigorously.
Ocelot didn’t let up, and could soon feel John’s legs trembling again, a pearl of sweat making its way down the bridge of his nose. The noises erupting from his open mouth grew louder in pitch and volume, until suddenly his muscles tensed up and he was spilling his seed on Ocelot’s stomach, again soiling him.
The sweet tightening of John’s ass was enough to push Ocelot over, and he came with a curse inside the younger man’s body. He didn’t have a lot of seed to spend, but he greatly enjoyed the spasms going through John’s body, unconsciously milking him dry.
John raised himself off Ocelot’s cock, wincing once more when the thick head widened his entrance. He flopped down on the floor, breathing rapidly.
“Mission complete,” Ocelot chuffed, saluting John with fingers pointed like guns. John was licking his dry lips and wiping his brow, but nodded anyway.
“Your Boss doesn’t need to know the details of this mission,” he said with a grouch as he sat up. The hard concrete flooring was not good for his back. “Only that you succeeded.”
John was back in his soldier mode, eyes serious as he dressed himself up, ignoring the stains on his uniform. He hovered in place for a while, not sure of what to do next.
“Leave the same way you came in,” Ocelot said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. Saluting, John turned around and started to walk away with an uneven gait. Only after a few paces, he stopped and turned abruptly around to see Ocelot picking up his coat, patting it down to get the worst dust off it.
“Who are you?” John asked, determined to find out. Ocelot smirked, actually thinking about who he should present himself as. If he really was in John’s timeline, Ocelot’s future might change drastically if he gave himself away now.
“One of the three in Paradise,” he replied enigmatically, waving John off. “That’s all you’ll get from me, now go.”
John snapped a salute and left for good.
Setting himself straight, a spark of light caught his eye. Investigating it, he found it to be a similar device than the one he’d found in the Interrogation Room on Shadow Moses Island. Interestingly, the same coils were sparking with blue light, and Ocelot felt strangely drawn to those sparks. If he just reached out and touched them—
xxx xxx xxx
Four years later
xxx xxx xxx
Snake eyed at the two revolvers on the floor of the WIG. This was no time for a “showdown”, as Ocelot put it, but he had decided to humour him anyways. There was something strange about the young Major, something Snake couldn’t put his finger on. There were rumours that Ocelot was the Boss’s son, and Snake could see a resemblance there, but that wasn’t it.
“What’s your name?” the brash Major called.
“…Snake.”
“No, not that name,” he said. “You’re not a snake, and I’m not an ocelot. We’re men, with real names—“ Ocelot gestured.
“My name is Adamska.”
Snake’s eyebrow twitched. Adamska? As in… Adam? The third person in Paradise, floated suddenly into his thoughts. Adam, Eve… and the Snake. He did remind Snake of the man he had… encountered on his mission, but that man was old, much older than the young Russian. Maybe he was Ocelot’s father? But the man he had encountered four years ago was suave and confident and not like the blonde brat before him. Mentally, Snake shrugged. It didn’t really matter, that mission was a success and he was a man now. No need to ponder on semantics.
“What’s yours?” Adamska asked, pointing a red leathered finger at Snake.
“John,” he professed with a small smile playing on his lips. This Major sure was something else, nothing like he’d ever met before.
“All right, John. Plain name, but I won’t forget it,” Adamska said, cocking his head. As the silence before the storm settled between them, the two men stared intently at each other, waiting for the right moment.
“Come on!”