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He rarely went ashore these days.
With the establishment of a permanent base, they no longer had to chase after the coins of wild-eyed, hunted men who spent day in day out darting around back rooms, who needed the faces of those they paid as insurance.
Those types usually had little money to throw around anyway.
As much as he liked to bet on the underdog, he was beginning to see the benefits of dealing with those who could afford the luxury of calling in from proxy landlines in distant offices.
The white collar warlords.
He had regarded Zero as one of them. When they first began to do business, Zero had been nothing but a clipped, disembodied voice; a ghost in the receiver. Snake's former superior, ex-SAS, a put on aristocratic air, and a propensity for small talk that betrayed the breadth of information that Cipher had truly plumbed.
Truth be told, Kaz often felt outclassed.
His initial bargaining chips were laid bare: Big Boss and the burgeoning business they were building together in the middle of the Caribbean.
Both weren’t even fully his to offer. The mere fact that he had to pussyfoot around with Cipher was indicative enough of how tenuous his relationship with Big Boss really was.
What he was offering to Zero now hadn’t even been calculated. Not particularly, anyway.
Zero’s dick tasted less heady than he was used to. Presumably, Zero didn’t spend his days with his balls glued to the jungle underbrush, or no longer did, anyway. Even with Kaz’s efforts, his dick had been at half-mast for the past three minutes. Kaz had graduated from employing cautious swirls and flicks of the tongue to furious, sloppy, full on sucking, and results were still slow to show.
Zero made no sound other than an occasional low “Hm” as if he were evaluating Kaz’s performance. The unreadable placidity, along with Zero’s fingers tenderly threading through the stray hairs just above Kaz’s ears, made a knot of anxiety form somewhere in the very base of his stomach.
This was different from their calls. Flirting there was easy. Kaz had employed it almost reflexively, partially as a response to Zero’s tendency towards pleasantries and partially out of his own insecurity regarding his position. He had thought that it didn’t mean anything or would lead anywhere. Flirtatiousness on Kaz's end was a tool pulled out almost unconsciously when he had little else to offer; a show of flamboyance, a challenge, a plastic carrot on a stick, beckoning the other to come closer for something he didn’t think much of giving up.
If the flirting escalated, it was fine. He could control it.
After all, he thought, it had worked like a charm on Big Boss.
And strangely enough, it worked on Zero.
Kaz shifted his knees. Even with his considerable… experience, servicing gentlemen past a certain age wasn’t something he was used to. As the seconds passed by, he became conscious of the dryness in the air, the irritating humming of the air conditioner twenty feet away. The expansion of MSF was on the line.
“Kazuhira.”
At the sound of Zero’s voice, Kaz didn’t stop.
He knew what this was. The small talk.
What did it mean? Was Zero getting bored? There was little reason for him to overanalyze the situation, especially with his thumb pressed against the largest vein of the weakest part of Zero’s softening, aged body. Zero had seemingly infinite resources at his disposal: money, spies, the nations-wide reach of his organization.
But by revealing himself like this, he’d given up something valuable too.
Zero the man. Not Cipher’s spine. Not a shadowy figure over the sea, nor the breathing behind the static of the phone. A flesh and blood man, well preserved for being in his sixties, but with a history of fine living starting to show around his stomach and in his jowls, the knit of his brows unfathomable.
“Don’t be so frantic. Take your time. We’ve got quite a while.”
Kaz swallowed. “Right.”
“In any case, I think some variety’s called for. I’d like to see what else you can do.”
He suppressed the urge to shoot back with C’mon… A little give and take would be appreciated here, and instead gave his most winning all-American smile. Precum dribbled down the side of his mouth.
At least the other man was hard now. The lube Kaz had ferreted out of mother base was perched innocently on a nearby hotel table, beckoning to be opened.
He reached for it.
Zero grabbed his wrist. “We won’t have any of that.”
“What? Why?”
Zero’s eyes were almost completely hooded, but they still regarded Kaz intently. “I know how thin the resources at Militaires Sans Frontières are stretched. Make no mistake, penny-pinching’s the sign of a shrewd second-in-command. But given that, the… thing you brought. If it came out of your shanty research and development department, then it’s probably made of lizard grease and God knows what.”
Kaz huffed. “Not true, but okay then, Mr. Fancypants. What’ve you got?”
Zero withdrew what appeared to be a lighter from the breast pocket of his blazer. He flipped it upside down and pressed in a mechanism at the bottom, releasing a previously invisible cap. Viscous liquid pooled from the revealed nozzle.
“Is this the kind of cutting edge technology you’re blowing Cipher’s money on?” Kaz asked witheringly.
“Practicality, Kazuhira. Two in one. It’s a completely functional lighter, too.”
“Just like those movies you’re into, huh?”
“You caught me.” Zero laughed. “In any case, take off your clothes. It’d be awfully impolite of me to make you do all the work, young and energetic as you are…”
He squirted one precise, sizeable dab of lube onto his finger. Kaz complied, his civilian khakis and undershirt discarded with the same deftness he had dismantling a rifle. Zero was still sitting on the bed, his feet planted firmly on the carpet.
Kaz clambered on. The curtains were tightly drawn. They were in a nondescript three star hotel; not fancy enough to draw unwanted attention, but not the type of fleapit locals escaped to when they didn’t want to go back to their wives. They’d mutually, silently agreed to sit away from any windows in case of sudden sniper fire.
Zero discarded his blazer, leaving on a starched white dress shirt and an empty gun holster, firmly strapped near his heart. Kaz was unashamedly ass naked. Both of their weapons lay on an adjacent table and had been set aside at the beginning of their encounter. Close enough to draw in an emergency, but far away enough to ensure a mutual ceasefire.
A dry hand started to knead Kaz’s ass, while a slicked finger was inserted into his asshole. He felt the cool edge of a ring on Zero’s finger brush against his thigh.
“Soooo…” he started.
Zero leaned in close.
“Stop talking,” he whispered.
He withdrew his finger, only to replace it with two. With strangely practiced measure, he stroked the sensitive area embedded inside. Kaz shuddered.
His own dick, so far neglected, was starting to surge upwards. Zero spat into his dry hand, a surprisingly coarse motion for him, and started to stroke evenly, surely, quickly, efficiently; his hands were calloused, a physical remnant of an undisclosed colorful past. Kaz looked into his face. A single scar running down his left side; placid again. A sheen of sweat might’ve been starting to develop on his forehead, but whatever tiredness that showed so far had been etched in only from the stress of being hunted, and not from exertion.
It was all business. Hell, the aviators were still on; Zero’s face was carved out in shades of sienna and umber.
It’d probably be too personal to kiss him.
Kaz smashed his mouth into Zero’s.
He looked disgusted for a moment, flinched, but quickly regained composure. He did not give in, but he allowed Kaz to unceremoniously suck on his tightly drawn lower lip. His fingers slipped out of Kaz’s asshole, and he devoted both hands to thumbing Kaz’s reddening dick.
It was when he grabbed Zero’s face in his hands that Zero drew away.
“I can see that you’re getting antsy,” he remarked. “I think I’ve pulled my weight now. How about you, ah…?”
Kaz could sense that Zero’s walls were coming down. This was the moment he lived for; when Snake had showed him the true depths of his inexperience by the way he fondled Kaz’s dick like it was the hand of a girl he'd been hesitant to ask to the dance; when Swan, who had found him repugnant for the past month, suddenly changed her mind once she let him bury his nose in the crux of her thighs.
“Of course… my dear Zero,” he said.
He gripped the other man’s shoulder with one hand while easing his bottom onto Zero’s still erect cock. Their thighs were starting to feel lightly sticky from the friction; the air conditioner in the corner bleated still, but the sound wasn’t as maddening now.
Zero wasn’t big nor small. He was average. Kaz stared down into his eyes from beneath his sunglasses; the older man’s gaze was firmly tracing the agonizingly slow descent of Kaz’s ass. He took Zero’s dick to the hilt, balls cushioning him. In this position, Zero’s length didn’t exactly hit that sweet spot, but Kaz didn’t want to come just yet.
“So.”
His grip on Zero tightened again, Zero’s rapid pants threatening to engulf the surrounding area in the vapors of stale tea. He rose quicker than he had descended, lightly contracting his insides to squeeze Zero’s dick ever so slightly.
“I think MSF could do better than just the pile of scrap metal you laid out in our last contract. How about throwing in two choppers?”
Zero regarded him with irritation. He curled his fingers into Kaz’s ass, enough to leave marks. “You’re pushing it, Kazuhira.”
“This is a real grand scheme you’re asking me to pull off here…”
“Now, now. No need to be greedy. Snake has never been the most attentive man concerning logistics, but even he’ll notice if all the shiny new toys start coming in.”
Kaz continued to rock on Zero’s dick. He drew his face closer.
“I’m only asking for two. Getting cast offs from our clients in lieu of payment is something that happens all the time. Those cast offs? All too often repurposed American aircraft, sent in to covertly aid in containing red influence… but taken over by local forces. Another one or two American brand choppers to our fleet isn’t a big deal. And after all…”
Kaz quickened his pace.
“Snake doesn’t handle the logistics. I do. He took on ‘Galvéz’ and ‘Paz’ without a hitch. I ensured that.”
“Make no mistake - it was - the ghost of his mentor - that did.” Zero’s face was even, but his teetering tone betrayed him.
“I… led him there.” They were both panting heavily now. “The expansion of MSF is something that can only be mutually beneficial…”
“Snake will not…” Zero’s voice dropped off. He was clearly close to the edge. At that cue, Kaz stopped as well, Zero’s dick buried in his ass at mid-shaft. He casually gripped Zero’s thigh to prevent any upward thrusts.
Zero scowled. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m not getting as much out of this arrangement as I think I should be,” Kaz said evenly. This was a situation that from this conversation on, Zero would most likely never put himself in again. The fox would slip out from his cage. That suited Kaz. He had to make the most of it.
“The helicopters?” Zero sighed. He rubbed his forehead with his hand in a show of faux exasperation. “Alright. Have them.”
Kaz feigned a gasp. “You really mean it?”
“Yes.”
He’d done well, he thought. MSF was still small, and he had just significantly increased their airpower in exchange for something he hadn’t counted on as a bargaining chip at first.
Perhaps Zero could be pressed even further. After all, he could give away choppers like it was Christmas. Make it rain, baby.
Kaz lowered himself by about an inch. “How about a new, ah, watch while you’re at it?”
Zero raised an eyebrow at him, and then laughed. “Kazuhira Miller. Are you really trying to exchange orgasms for luxury goods?”
Kaz suddenly began to rock again, albeit slower. Zero coughed, then shook his head, at ease again.
“You’re a real weasel, but alright. A Rolex. As a sign of good will, I suppose.”
Kaz walked out of the room that day escorted by twelve Cipher henchmen, armed to the teeth. He also walked out with one Rolex, two Bell UH-1 Iroquois, a secret construction fund worth thousands of GMP, an expensive free dinner, and very trace amounts of Zero’s cum up his ass. All in all, a decent haul.
Best of all, he knew Zero would call back.
It was more difficult to get Zero to show his face the second time around.
In 1974, Zero had come to Central America, in a nondescript hotel near the coast. He had not come alone and was flanked by a significant portion of his strike force, but he had risked the journey.
Now, over a year later, that same journey was completely unthinkable. Kaz had no real place to call home, with the rubble of MSF collecting rust in the bottom of the Caribbean. He had no base, barely any troops, and straggling resources. He was lesser than most men. A nomad. There was no choice but to travel to his former benefactor.
Zero was paranoid. Their first physical encounter proved it. This time, to be granted an audience with him felt like less of an honor, even though it had been far more difficult.
Through tireless dialing, through jumbles and mazes of encrypted landlines, he had finally agreed to meet again. The black car that came to pick Kaz up and take him to an undisclosed location in New York reminded him vaguely of when his father’s car had come for him that one day, when he thought he would be delivered once and for all from his ramshackle life in Yokosuka.
But mostly, it reminded him of a hearse.
When he met Zero again, he asked for favors through clenched teeth. It had been easier to swallow his pride a year ago. He had been zero, and Zero was everything. Now he was negative, but Zero was at least still Zero.
Zero was much more generous than before. He was willing to supply money, gear, and ammunition, funneled backdoors through a dummy company to avoid Skull Face’s watchful eye. The foundation for a new business, one that was kept on life support until Snake regained consciousness and could breathe life into it once again. This promise Kaz could ply out of Zero with guilt alone.
But no matter how much he cajoled, threatened, and even begged, Snake’s new hospital location remained firmly in the dark.
It infuriated him how his partner had become Zero’s bargaining chip, the only barrier between his fingers and Zero’s neck. Their guns weren’t set aside now. Zero’s was still close to his heart, and Kaz’s at his hip. A Walther PPK/S and a Makarov, respectively.
Neither of them were really in the mood, but Zero had little left, too. His once limitless resources were now split up and sent to the farthest recesses of the Earth for safekeeping, carefully doled out in trace amounts as to not rouse XOF’s suspicion. He spent most of his days looking out windows and checking his food.
Prostrating in front of Zero was hollowly familiar. There was nothing he could give him this time, and he had the world to beg for. He said to himself that he’d take on any wet work to stoke MSF’s last embers. This was no different.
Zero still looked the same, save for weight loss. Probably stress. There were a lot more enemies after his tail now.
Son of a bitch deserves it, Kaz thought.
He pulled down Zero’s zipper. They were both silent. In 1974, his stupid, smart mouth had brought him face to face with Cipher. With Big Boss gone, sleeping his life away in some dark corner of the planet, with the majority of his men drifting about, being eaten away by fish, he had nothing again but his mouth.
And he used it.