Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction ❯ Grenades ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Event Horizon 
Non Anime: Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.28.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.0K | Visits: 203 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.28.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.0K | Visits: 203 | Status: Completed
Sunlight prodded Hal's lids. His limbs stretched awkwardly, stiffened against the couch cushions. His left arm was trapped underneath his chest, numb. The couch was empty, save for the tangled mess of his own body. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes with his functioning hand, catching Dave's form sitting in the kitchen, doing slow curls with his right arm. His brows were knit, bottom lip bitten. He was making improvement, but it was painful - clearly.
"Morning."
"...morning. What time is it?" Hal picked his glasses up from the coffee table, easing a crimp out of his neck. What had persuaded him to sleep on the couch? Either of their beds would have been a far better choice. He glanced at the blinking lights on the DVD player.
"Almost 9. I think it's safe to say those militants haven't found us yet." A grunt from Dave in assent. "We're out of cereal, you want to get something from Ella's?" Perhaps it was a celebration of sorts. Hal successfully navigated through his first mission, they hadn't been captured by crazed psychos, Dave's torn muscles were knitting together nicely. And of course, last night...
It was the first morning where they could throw off the dour cloak of tension and depression that had shrouded them for months. Ever since that fateful message about N38. Dave set down the weight, a smile ghosting over his lips.
"Sure."
Once they were both showered, dressed, they made their way downstairs. Dave's wandering eyes would likely startle the occupants, so he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and Hal picked a table by the window rather than their customary booth at the back. All the tables were tiny, like small broken pieces of a much larger table. This one was just big enough to hold two plates and assorted silverware, no more. Not even their elbows. Hal gazed around the restaurant, catching the averted heads of four patrons and the brief glance of the proprietor. It had been nearly three weeks since either man had set foot in the diner. Dave was hobbled, masking it well, but their presence still set everyone on edge. Lions being watched by gazelles.
"What can I get ya, boys?" He filled their coffee cups to the brim, steaming and black.
"Two eggs over easy and some hash browns, please."
"Sausage and pancakes." He felt the weight of Hal's reproachful gaze. "Please."
"You betcha."
Snippets of conversation washed over their heads. The weather. Who was planting what crop and when. How the winter wheat had fared. 'Two old Norwegians walk into a bar...' But they were silent, unable to buoy a simple conversation. Dave basked in the sunlight, letting it warm his face and hands. Hal kept a watchful eye on the door and the sidewalk outside. He had to be the alert one. He knew he could never let his guard down again.
But what could they possibly talk about? The only things of pertinence were investigating Dave's condition, finding a way to dispose of the car, and everything that had transpired last night. Neither man was keen to talk about the latter part of the evening. It had happened, it was wonderful, but... what were they supposed to do, discuss their feelings? Hal let one portion of his brain dance along in silent elation, let the half of his mouth invisible to the restaurant curl upwards in delight. It had happened. Miracle of miracles. And it would happen again, in all likelihood. As long as he could keep them safe, keep them alive. Would they ever get to the comfortable point where he could simply run his fingers along the line of Dave's ribs, just for the sheer pleasure of it? God, he hoped they would.
But such musings were fruitless, distracting, and he pushed it from his mind. He spotted the rack of newspapers and adverts in the corner, stood methodically so as not to startle Dave, grabbed one and sat back down.
"Cars," was his one word explanation. Dave nodded.
"How about a truck instead? You know, something we could use to tow it." Great idea. His eyes scanned down the page. Cars, cars, SUVs, farm equipment... There were a dozen trucks, most far too expensive to be practical.
"92 Dodge Dakota, no mileage listed. $800."
"That's only two wheel drive. Any others?"
"87 Chevy Silverado, good tires. $750, or best offer."
"Decent, as long as it runs. Want to take a look at it?" Hal shrugged.
"Sure, but I don't think we have any other options right now. Those were the only two less than four thousand." Their food arrived and silence settled again, save for the clinking of forks and knives.
Hunger satiated, they returned to their apartment. Hal dialed the number, let it ring until it hit the fast busy. No answering machine. He tried again, eight rings, and finally a voice. They'd meet in an hour, a farm far to the west of the city. Hal counted out a stack of twenties from one of their stashes in the apartment. Funds were getting low, again. Before they left this city behind for good, he would have to dedicate another afternoon to collect small random 'donations'.
He ducked out of the apartment and quickly found the abandoned warehouse from last night. Picked the lock like a veteran, listening with relief as the car's engine turned over.
"Just once more, baby, I promise." He muttered, pulling the battered car into the street slowly, driving to the rear of their apartment where Snake waited, clutching the stair railing.
The next stop was the the U-Haul by the interstate, where 'Nick Llewellyn' procured a tow dolly. Two twenties gone, but it was a worthwhile investment. The dolly wouldn't be coming back.
Then they were back on the road before the bullet holes and dried blood garnered too many curious stares, too many unvoiced questions. The less impact, the better.
The farm was found easily enough, the farmer all too accommodating. The truck was in poor but serviceable condition. Snake sat in the Subaru while they bargained, arms folded over his chest. The stubble on his chin was was a few days long and his countenance plus sunglasses screamed menace. Hal allowed the man's honest gaze to fall over the figure in the car, the car itself. This time he invited the unspoken questions. Begged the worry to rise in his mind - did he really want to tarry with a man like this? A man associated with bullet holes and blood. A man with frightening friends. Did the ad say seven fifty? That must have been a mistake. No, no, six hundred was okay, and more than the truck was worth. Could he help with the hitch?
Bills exchanged, Hal accepted his help, attached the dolly to the Chevy, drove the Subaru onto it, and strapped the wheels down. They were gone in a matter of minutes.
"Did you talk him down a hundred dollars?"
"Hundred and fifty," he said with a shy smile.
"I never figured you for a negotiator."
It was easy enough to get lost on the plains. An hour, a few random turns, and Hal had found a place forsaken of inhabitants, where the pavement ended and turned into dust. The time between passed amicably, country and bluegrass music on the radio, Dave next to him, silent, but a pleasant companion. It gave him time to get used to the truck, to the way it sounded, quivers in the steering, how it shifted doubtfully from one gear to the next. Not the best replacement, but it would do. He pulled the truck a short distance into a fallow field, careful not to wander too deep lest the spring mud stick both vehicles in place. He shut off the truck and proceeded to undo the hitch. The Subaru was in neutral, so once it was unfastened, he recruited Dave's help to simply push it off the dolly. It rolled back into the soft dirt, suspension bouncing lightly before coming to a rest.
"I feel like I should say a few words," he muttered while retrieving the gas can from the trunk. Perhaps it was a bit of a ceremony, he thought while unscrewing the cap, sprinkling the upholstery liberally with gasoline. It had been such a faithful servant, humbly carrying their gear from city to city, quietly bearing the burden of long miles on the road, ferrying them through bad weather, gloriously charioting Dave away from a hail of bullets. It had crated them long, uncertain miles into Canada and back.
But now it was a liability. With the remainder of those maniacs looking for them, it was a bright red target on their backs. Dave offered him the glowing end of his cigarette. He tossed it lightly onto the drivers seat, watching the fire spread in a quick halo of blue and yellow. It gathered speed, flying to the back seat, to the dash. The whole car quickly became a glowing ember. Hal felt an impossible tightness in his eyes. This was a car, for crying out loud?!
"It was a good car." Dave grunted in assent and Hal, overcome with the silence they'd borne on the trip, the unreasonable emotion, grasped Dave's face and smothered him with a long, deep kiss. He didn't flinch away, returning it, wrapping his hands around Hal's waist. Their tongues twined until the heat reached their faces.
"Time to go." The truck started and they were back on the road by the time the fire had melted the gasket around the firewall. It entered the engine, found the fuel line, the tank, and burst into a ball of flame.
***
By mid afternoon they'd found their way back to the apartment, the truck parked outside in their customary spot. Now that the immediate needs had been addressed, they could return their focus to diagnosing Dave's blindness. He'd shown no improvement save for slowly adapting to the loss of his sight. He found the couch without issue, made himself comfortable, and poured a glass of warm vodka left on the coffee table while Hal prepared to check his retinas. Mei Ling had sent instructions, so he was hovering over the gas oven now, sterilizing the smooth handle of a butter knife over a lit burner.
Job done, he set it on a clean paper towel to cool and fetched an eyedropper and the atropene from their expanding first aid kit. Hal watched as Dave sipped the vodka, draining the glass to the bottom.
"I'm going to put a few drops of the atropene into each of your eyes, okay?" He approached slowly, kneeling on the couch while Dave obediently leaned his head on the back of the couch. He added a few drops to one, then the other, watching Dave blink quickly in reaction, spreading it across the surface. "It's probably a little cold, but soon you won't be able to feel it. The atropene will dilate your pupils and will numb your eyes. It will probably feel weird."
"Hmm. Thanks for the heads up." Hal rose to check on the knife handle. Dave poured himself another glass.
The metal was cooling quickly, but he'd give the atropene at least ten minutes to work. Hal busied himself by finding a flashlight instead. After a successful search, he returned to the couch to find Dave rubbing his eyelids in small circles.
"Feels damn odd." As he lowered his fingers, Hal was met with the same sight as last night, his pupils wide and black. It was unnerving.
"I'd expect so, but that's good, means we have the best shot at doing this right. I-I mean..." He was nervous now as he gripped the knife blade and straddled Dave's hips. What if he screwed up? What if he slipped? What if he caused more damage than was already done?
He turned on the flashlight and popped the end of it in his mouth. With his left hand he gingerly spread open Dave's eyelids. His right hand shook slightly, and he took a deep breath. He could tell the soldier was holding his. They trusted each other implicitly, but this was delicate... He shone the flashlight into his wide pupil and pushed gently on the white sclera of his eye with the smooth end of the handle. The light shone through the vitreous humour and the blood vessels stood out in stark contrast. But there was no movement. No quivering and disconnected retina. No torn tissue bleeding out into the center of his eye.
Hal realized he was holding his breath as well and let it out in a long sigh around the end of the flashlight, hands falling to his sides.
"Well, that's good news on one. Let's see about the other." He repeated the same procedure on Dave's other eye, but again, there was no movement, no ripped fibers. His retinas were intact.
"Now what? I was half hoping you'd find something." Dave blinked rapidly, trying futilely to bring feeling back to his eyes and lids. "All this means is we still have no clue what's causing this." Hal was in the kitchen, washing the knife, putting the flashlight away.
"I'm glad there's no visible damage, but... Damn it. I just wish I knew what was wrong." They both felt powerless. "I'm sending another message to Mei Ling." The next step would be admitting Dave to a hospital. Which would mean fake IDs, faked medical records, falsified insurance... They were nearing the end of their rope. What choice did they have?
Both men spent the next day packing up the apartment. It was such a routine now that it was almost comforting, packing up their few belongings. Dave was able to pack his clothes and the kitchen utensils, Hal picked up the few weapons lying around, their essential bathroom supplies, non-essential computer equipment. His primary laptop was busying picking routing numbers at random, siphoning five dollar 'administration' fees into their various shell accounts. He scooped the perpetually packed boxes of anime and manga from under his bed. Countless trips between the truck and the apartment, up and down the stairs, brought a light sheen of sweat to his brow. It was so much easier when there were two people to help ferry boxes. The ammunition boxes would be last, covered securely with a bed sheet.
They were uprooting themselves from the city they'd lived in for over seven months. They'd had time to learn the pattern of the streets, the lazy-twangy dialect of the residents, where the cheapest liquor stores were, the name of the girl at the post office. It was longer than any other place they'd lived. The routine and the silent occupation was comforting, even if the end goal was not.
Arms full of boxes, one beep from the laptop told Hal their accounts had reached a plump sum. On the return trip, the beeping was continuous, a warning. He jogged over to the laptop, swiftly unclipping the network cable.
"How's it coming?"
"All boxed up," Dave called from the bathroom.
"Good, let's get on the road."
Bozeman, Montana was their destination. A change of scenery, a chance to disappear. The sky was dusky as Hal placed the last week's rent on the coffee table, closed the door, and pushed the keys under the sill. If he drove all night, they would be in Bozeman in the morning. If anyone had seen their Subaru driving northwards to Canada the week prior, the mercenaries would head towards Manitoba. That was the only lead they could pursue. As soon as they were out of Bismarck, their trail would be cold.
Under mid-morning sun, Hal and Dave crated their belongings out of the truck and into a small, rundown farmhouse at the edge of Bozeman. The mountains rose thickly behind the house, a light dusting of white still clinging to the ridges. The valley spread out in front of them, more mountains framing it, these fading off into a gentle blue. It was gorgeous. Hal's fingers itched for a camera. Then his eyes caught Dave's figure, shuffling uncertainly towards the porch steps. They creaked under his weight, desperately in need of attention. The breathtaking panorama which encircled them, and Dave could barely make it up the stairs without stumbling.
Hal crated the boxes into the house one by one and Dave sorted through them with probing fingers. Bathroom - important. Kitchen - important. He had to learn the new layout of the house before he could be confident enough to carry each to their designated room.
An hour or so later, Hal finished unloading the truck. There was no furniture save three chairs around a small kitchen table. He'd have to remedy that tomorrow. He set about unpacking the air mattress from one box, inflated it with their small electric air compressor, and collapsed in fatigue.
After about a week, Dave was finding his way around the house with confidence, near speed. Tense days passed while they waited for a reply from Mei Ling. She was difficult to reach, again. Just what was she up to?
When she finally checked in, the satellite vid feed showed dark circles under her eyes, but a bright smile on her lips.
"Otacon, Snake - how are you?"
"Never better."
"Don't mind him, he's just cranky from being cooped up. How are you?"
"Excellent. Despite the lack of progress in diagnosis, I think I have a promising option." She detailed her work over the past month, replete with diagrams and sketches. "It seems we were not the only ones interested in Project Horus. I went through the Department of Defense servers to try and find their research results and found records of two entities requesting copies of files in the past year. You'll never guess who." Hal's eyebrows quirked. For the hell of it, he asked.
"Who?"
"A Doctor G. Bennet and a Doctor N. Hunter. I couldn't find much of anything on Bennet, except for the fact he'd been in and out of dozens of records for classified projects. However, I had quite a good idea who Dr Hunter was." She detailed attempts made to track down Naomi, including a fruitless trip to Boston and a flight to her last known location in Gaborone, Botswana. The trail had, as expected, gone cold. "She's done quite a good job of disappearing. I still haven't been able to get in touch with her." Hal grasped the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Does that mean we're back at square one?"
"Not necessarily. I'm not a doctor, but I could guess what her aims were when she accessed the Horus data. Nanomachines. That's her forte, correct?" Of course. It all made sense now. She was likely trying to gather data on eyesight repair and augmentation to modify it for use in her ever-adapting array of microscopic creations. "Why can't we do the same?" The image of her impish, smiling face was replaced with a command line screen which rapidly filled with line after line of glaring white text.
Hal's eyes raced back and forth as it scrolled. It was only a few pages, but it was a solid outline of nerve reconstruction instructions for the nanomachines swimming in Dave's veins. Hal's lips split into a grin as he read the first few lines.
void axonSearch () {
int loc [3] = {x, y, z};
bool axonFound = false;
while (axonFound == false) {
mobility(); //default movement function
axonFound = myelinCheck() //need to debug!! >_<
if (axonFound == true) {
signalLoc () = loc; //hive communication
}
}
Perhaps it wasn't perfect syntax, but it was a good beginning. That, and Mei Ling had gotten them off the ground with a crude networking tool, another procedure for finding the insulating myelin lipid nerve structures, and an adaptation of the machines' protein conversion sub-routine to build new umbilical lines of nodes and axons. It would be a herculean task to create new neurons. Instead, they could employ the nanobots to run neurotransmitter extension cords from Dave's eyes to his optical lobe. Hal rubbed his hands together unconsciously, nervous to begin.
Both he and Dave heartily thanked Mei Ling, promised to get in touch soon, and then Hal's fingers began buzzing off the keys.
The primary inhibitor was finding a way to allow the nanomachines to differentiate between specific optical nerves and all other sinews that ran through Dave's body. It would do no good, and perhaps a good deal of harm, if the little bots started replicating nerve tissue on each synapse they spotted. The sun had nestled between the mountains and the sky was pitch black before Hal was aware of the passage of time. Dave had kept busy by cleaning a few guns and lifting weights while Hal read through the notes from Project Horus.
"The retinohypothalamic tract can be identified through electrical stimulus. The distended axon characteristic of RGCs has been found to resist current in a factor of 10E-3 when compared with non-explicit synapse structures."
"Makes sense." Dave was a good sounding board, despite his lack of medical or programming knowledge. "The nanomachines generate their own electricity. This means they should be able to use it to identify these specific cells as a starting point." The man had an IQ of 160 after all. Hal murmured in agreement and then his fingers were off again. Dave wanted to interrupt him, but thought better of it, walking out onto the porch to light a cigarette instead. It was good to hear Hal's productivity, especially after the days upon weeks of impotent struggle.
The air was crisp, even if it was the end of April. Between drags, he filled his lungs with the mountain air, holding his breath to listen. They were not so far outside the small city that the soft engine rumble of trucks and cars didn't reach them. The night was especially still and his keen ears picked up the far away grinding of a train on tracks, soft, quick hoots from one owl, then another, somewhere distant in the trees. The dry grass rustled quietly behind him. Foxes, perhaps. He took another drag, listening. So much he would have missed just a month ago. His senses had always been sharp, but lacking sight, they were increased substantially. All the sounds of the night wafted in harmony around him, accompanied by the staccato tapping of Hal's fingers. He lit another cigarette.
Perhaps it was the fleeting and ethereal connection he felt with the world at that moment. His chest tightened, keying in on Hal's busy digits. He heard him sigh, then pause. Hal. The engineer was never far from his thoughts, but they had barely connected since that stolen night over a week ago in Bismarck, recovering from the the car chase. He remembered Hal's lips on his as he brought the second cigarette to his mouth again, finishing it in one long drag. Was it his fault? He'd gone right back into his routine instead of using those precious few minutes in the early morning to put his feelings into words. It was too difficult to reach across, make that connection. Between where he was and where he wanted to be was a vast emotional chasm he couldn't breach.
The typing began again, falteringly, and Dave heard him sigh frustratedly. Perhaps the coding wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. Dave stubbed out the dead butt with the toe of his shoe. The typing stopped again and he heard Hal crack his knuckles one by one, chewing a problem over in his head. He couldn't proof the code for Hal, couldn't help him debug it, but there was one thing he could help with. He padded back up the porch steps and found him in the living room by sound. Dave rested his hands on Hal's hunched shoulders, working his thumbs in circles between his spine and shoulder blades.
"What do you say to giving that a break for tonight. I can tell you're stressed out."
"I have to keep going, I won't make any progress by dawdling."
"Yes, but if you're stuck right now, you need a break. I'm sure you'll be fresh and full of ideas in the morning." Dave added pressure with his fingers to Hal's tight trapezius, earning a small grunt, conceding.
"Alright, you win... My brain is dead tonight anyway. And all the characters are starting to bleed together."
"Good," a small smile set itself on Dave's features. "Turn off the computer and come sit on the couch." Hal moved his fingers on the keyboard.
"There, it's shut down."
"Bullshit," he chided. "I can hear that high pitched electric whine. Fan's still on. Monitor too."
"Aw, you suck." Hal shut it down for real this time and Dave noted the quiet hush when the LCD powered down. "Happy?"
"Getting there." The smile was evident in his tone. "Sit on the couch." Hal stood up, popping his neck, cracking his elbows, and shuffled over to sit.
The solider followed behind and resumed the slow deliberate massage. He worked his fingers up the back of Hal's neck, rubbing out all the little knots that had formed during the day's efforts. All the way up to his hairline, then back down, working his way out to his shoulders. There was a spot halfway between which made Hal groan deliciously as he worked it out. Dave spent extra time there, then continued on down his back. He tugged at the hem of his shirt and Hal wordlessly agreed, pulling it over his head. Dave continued to massage his skin, working his knuckles along Hal's spine, his fingertips gently prodding along the edge of his shoulder blades.
"Your hands are so warm," Hal murmured, eyes closing. Dave continued down to the small of his back, then back up, working in little circles, bigger circles, everywhere. Touching and rubbing every square centimeter of skin. He found himself wanting to move in, press his nose against his back, breathe in his smell, run his lips over his skin. The desire was so strong and he heard Hal's breath quicken. It was overpowering now, and he ran the tip of his nose up his neck, burying it in the short curls at he base of his head. He drank in his scent, almonds and earthy like before - never stopping his hands, which were now perched on his shoulders, flexing and rubbing. He let his face wander to Hal's shoulder line, pressing his open lips against his skin, slow kisses trailing out to his shoulder while his hands worked down his arms, holding them firmly.
"Hal..." he breathed it into his skin and the engineer responded with a shaky sigh, tipping his head back. Dave took the opportunity to nestle his face into his exposed neck, kissing then sucking on his throat. He could feel Hal swallow, breath becoming raspy. His sensitive mouth transcribed the rapid pulse through his jugular, his tongue and lips hungry on his skin as if savoring a sweet, rapidly melting dessert. The feel, the smells, the knowledge that Hal was fast losing control, reacting to his touch, brought a rush of blood to his groin. The scientist half-whispered, half-moaned his name. It didn't take much more before Dave was fully erect and seriously contemplating pushing his pelvis closer to Hal, dry rubbing against him to find some kind of relief.
No, he didn't want to move things so fast. At least the small screaming rational portion of his brain was pleading with him to slow down. The rest of his body, ever nerve fiber begged him to rut against Hal like a crazed animal. He growled in frustration, inner confusion, biting Hal lightly, winning a strangled whimper laced with desire from the other's mouth. That was it, he couldn't fucking take it. His healed arms, strong again, turned Hal around on the couch, searching desperately for his mouth. Hal's fine hands settled on either side of his face, guiding their hungry lips together. Their tongues tangled frantically, probing the soft secret spaces of each other's mouth. Dave buried his fingers in his hair, running his fingernails along his scalp, feeling the smooth curls slide against his palms. Hal's hands meanwhile found occupation along the soldier's waistline, caressing the well defined muscles along his ribs. Up, further along the lines of his chest, up to his shoulders. They broke apart momentarily so Hal could pull his shirt over his head. Dave flung it blindly and resumed his hungry exploration of the scientist's face.
Hal was desperate to get closer, so he pushed their bodies together, flinging his legs over Dave's. Their chests slid against each other, a light sheen of sweat coating skin. It seemed ages since they'd last touched. All his pent up longing and frustration crystallized into frantic energy. He rocked his hips against Dave's, starting an electric rhythm to which the other man responded willingly, moaning his gratitude into Hal's mouth. But only so much could be accomplished with restrictive clothing barring the way. Hal's fingers worked quickly at Dave's new belt buckle, the button, the zipper. Dave broke away for a few moments to peel off his jeans, boxers. Hal drank in the sight, all the easy strength rippling under his skin, all that skin shimmering, miles and miles of it, and his urgent insistent erection, swelled and begging to be touched.
Hal quickly stood and shed the last of his clothing, then pulled Dave back down to the couch, on top, warm skin connecting, burning need brushing, sending electricity to their brains and out their mouths in gasps and groans. Dave ground against him, desperately, wanton. Hal coated his hand thickly with his own saliva and wormed it between their boiling bodies, wrapping them together in a strong grip.
"Oh god, oh... Hal..." Dave's mind was blown, gone, just the shell of him still conscious, stripped down to animal instincts, pleasure smothering him. Hal watched in fascination as Dave's mouth grew slack, eyes rolling back in his head of their own volition. It was perfect, he was too beautiful and the splendor of the moment overwhelmed him and shortly they were both tumbling over the edge, erupting, cum bathing Hal's hand and spilling onto their stomachs.
It took a minute, maybe more, before their breathing slowed. As their bodies cooled, their focus turned to more mundane tasks. Getting clean, getting sleep. They stood awkwardly, suddenly uneasy in each other's presence. Dave retreated to the bathroom first and Hal perched on the couch, contemplating what just happened. He couldn't let them lapse into silence and inaction again. Couldn't let their relationship cleave further into two separate and distinct factions. He wouldn't allow them to bury something this precious under the surface, waiting for it to boil only after weeks of crippling frustration and inaction. He couldn't be separated from Dave any longer. Not by a mile, not by an arm length, not by an inch. He shuffled timidly into the bathroom, watching Dave in the mirror.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Are you going to take a shower?" Dave pondered this for a beat.
"Yeah, I think I might."
"Mind... mind if I take one with you?" Dave looked up, into the mirror, sightless eyes fixed somewhere in the vicinity of Hal's face. Chewed on it.
"Mmm... sure." A grin split Hal's face, relieved and energized. He reached into the shower stall, turned on the water, testing it a bit to make sure it was nice and hot. He stepped in and Dave was close behind him, rinsing the product of their exertions down the drain.
"Want me to wash your back?" Dave gave a noncommittal shrug and Hal proceeded to lather his arms, hands, then scrubbed all over Dave's back. Not too hard, not too light. A hint of fingernails. A soft sigh slipped out of Dave's mouth and his shoulders relaxed. "See, it's not so bad." Hal said lightly mocking, trying to lift the unexplained sullen mood. Dave chuckled softly.
"No, no, it's not so bad." And after a half minute, "thanks."
"I'll get your hair, too." It didn't take long to wash his short strands and soon the conditioner was rinsed out. Dave returned the favor, gentle hands working through his sodden curls. The day's grease and the last bit of uneasy tension dripped through his fingers and down the drain.
Once they were clean, Dave's bed seemed like a much better option than the couch, and much better still than separate beds. Hal found himself quickly wrapped in Dave's arms, pulled against his chest.
"Thank you," Dave whispered into his hair. "Sometimes I can be an ass."
"No problem," Hal conceded with a smile, not arguing. "Night."
"Night."
***
When Hal woke the next morning, Dave was still there, although they'd switched positions and the solider was on his back, Hal's arm draped haphazardly across his chest. The sunlight glinted into the room, drawing patterns across Dave's skin. Hal lazily traced them with his finger, watching the dust motes sparkle in and out of existence as they drifted downwards. How long had he dreamed about this?
It wasn't long before Dave woke, stirred by the warmth of the sun and the motions of Hal's curious fingertips.
"Morning."
Dave yawned. "Morning."
Hal gave him a short sweet kiss and then ambled off to the bathroom. There was a method about his madness. A kiss - simple, sweet, casual. He was determined to craft this into an everyday occurrence, not a rarity.
He exited and plopped back down on the bed, letting Dave take his turn. He waited. He didn't get dressed, didn't wander out to the kitchen for breakfast. He waited. He filled his mind with thoughts of last night. Dave's amazing body, his reactions, the way his fingers felt, his open lips. He still felt the warmth of his hands trailing over his back and chest.
Dave returned and Hal made damn sure that he was hard, pumping himself, and moaning slightly, enticingly.
"Hal?"
"Ye- yes?" He was breathing hard at this point too, aroused by the boldness of his plan, by Dave's proximity.
"Are - you?" He let the words hang in the air, listening to Hal's breathy moans. He stood grounded for a few pulse-pounding seconds, then slowly but surely shuffled over to the bed. He knelt down and reached out for Hal, his hands ghosting over his skin, unsure of his location. Hal's skin was on fire. The pads of Dave's fingers rippled over his skin, searching. They smoothed over his calves, his knees, his thighs, touching lightly on his inside thigh, stretching, reaching to where his fingers fisted around his erection, stroking hard. He was gasping by now and Dave's body reacted accordingly, tightening the skin around his balls, filling his penis with hot blood, ready and eager to join in. Dave had just started stroking his own shaft and the sight of it combined with the electricity of the moment sent Hal over the edge, gasping his name as he came.
Uneasy silence again settled between them until Hal, riding down his climax, let out a short little breathy laugh.
"See? See what you do to me? Just your goddamn fingers. Just your presence." Dave silenced him with a hungry kiss.
"God, Hal. I can't..." words failed. "Don't think for a moment you're finished here." They both grinned and Hal playfully pushed Dave down, straddling his legs.
"No. No, I'm not." His last words danced around Dave's erect penis, begging for contact. He obliged by lowering his lips, sucking it into his warm mouth one slow inch at a time. Dave's breath came in quick harsh gasps, and his hands found their way naturally into Hal's hair, caressing and pulling gently. His mouth was pure heat and wet suction, driving him insistently mad. Beatitudes dripped from his lips.
"Hal- oh, oh... God. You-" He uttered a low, guttural moan, unable to form coherent thought. His brows knitted as Hal increased the pressure, massaging with his tongue, pulling him in further and harder. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, the suddenness of his attack, the bare eroticism of the moment in the stark and silent room. And Hal's words - they were burying their hot little way into his mind. He gasped again and released his passion into Hal's mouth.
The scientist wiped his lips and lay down beside him, panting for breath.
"You- are a man- of many talents." He smoothed his fingers through Hal's soft curls.
"I know." A devilish smirk crossed his face. All these endorphins were making him cocky, self-confident. "You haven't seen half of it." He'd caught his breath so he bent down to Dave's softening cock, lapping carefully to clean him. His ministrations had the added benefit of slowly bringing him back to a state of full arousal.
"You bastard." Hal grinned and reached to the nightstand where he'd conveniently left some hand lotion from the bathroom. Emboldened, he squirted a generous dollop on his fingers, wiping some onto Dave's beating member, stuffing the rest slowly and gently into himself. His index finger worked slowly in and out, probing, stretching. He made little involuntary noises as he worked, adding his middle finger, then the start of his ring finger. "Dave..." his voice was a whisper, thready with anticipation. God, he wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel the soldier inside of him, wanted to stare into his eyes as he came. He was addictingly attractive, but nothing short of stunning when he climaxed. Hal was already drunk on the sight with only two brief glimpses.
Dave quirked an eyebrow, not totally sure of what Hal was up to. But then he heard the little gasps and propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out tentatively. His fingers connected with Hal's engorged penis, a whimper escaping from the touch. No, he wasn't stroking himself. He was - well, he was preparing himself for Dave. The realization crashed over him like a wave. He was at once stunned and excited and scared. Were they ready for this? Was Hal ready? It seemed like he was pushing for too much this morning. Dave's heart clenched at the idea of running this too raw, taking too much from their new relationship before it even began.
"Hal? Are you sure?"
"Yes. God, yes. I want you so bad." It was a rush of words, one long husky gasp. Hal pushed him down on the bed and straddled him again, but his words were tenative. "Is this okay?" Two words bounced around in Dave's head, then came exploding out his mouth at once.
"Yes. Now." Hal positioned himself and slowly worked the head of Dave's penis inside his opening. It was fire: feeling mixed with flame. He sunk down farther, accepting him slowly, adjusting himself to the new and wonderful feeling of flesh inside his own. Dave's flesh. Dave.
One hand was on the soldier's thigh, the other on his stomach, supporting his weight. Dave settled his fingers over Hal's. His world was eroding again, down to just two points - little choked moans of pleasure and tight hot walls squeezing him. The warm sun through the window was forgotten. The sounds of the outside world - the distant trains, the birds, the cars - this was not part of their world. Even the soft sheets beneath him failed to exist. It was just he and Hal, and barely even that, just two sentient points of wild pleasure in his black world. Hal rode him, up and down, harder, pounding, then slower, softer, and back again. Dave couldn't contain the moans from his chest, they leaked out from his throat into Hal's ears, encouraging him. Dave's hands moved to Hal's hips, gripping, guiding.
Then to Hal's shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts. He tossed his head back into the pillows, blind and wild, base instinct soaking in and stealing away rational thought. Hal's toes curled, watching Dave's throat arc, his adam's apple bob, and his hips pound into him. They were perfect, everything about the moment perfect, everything that had brought them to this point. Perfect. He clenched hard around Dave and erupted onto his stomach, his chest. His eyes wide, pupils blown, Dave thrust twice more and lost himself buried inside Hal.
Hal collapsed next to him, a warm presence wrapped around his side. The world slowly re-formed. The sunlight. The trains. The birds, cars, sheets. But it was only brief as everything became muzzy and they both sank into pleasant sleep.
Chapter 6
"Morning."
"...morning. What time is it?" Hal picked his glasses up from the coffee table, easing a crimp out of his neck. What had persuaded him to sleep on the couch? Either of their beds would have been a far better choice. He glanced at the blinking lights on the DVD player.
"Almost 9. I think it's safe to say those militants haven't found us yet." A grunt from Dave in assent. "We're out of cereal, you want to get something from Ella's?" Perhaps it was a celebration of sorts. Hal successfully navigated through his first mission, they hadn't been captured by crazed psychos, Dave's torn muscles were knitting together nicely. And of course, last night...
It was the first morning where they could throw off the dour cloak of tension and depression that had shrouded them for months. Ever since that fateful message about N38. Dave set down the weight, a smile ghosting over his lips.
"Sure."
Once they were both showered, dressed, they made their way downstairs. Dave's wandering eyes would likely startle the occupants, so he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and Hal picked a table by the window rather than their customary booth at the back. All the tables were tiny, like small broken pieces of a much larger table. This one was just big enough to hold two plates and assorted silverware, no more. Not even their elbows. Hal gazed around the restaurant, catching the averted heads of four patrons and the brief glance of the proprietor. It had been nearly three weeks since either man had set foot in the diner. Dave was hobbled, masking it well, but their presence still set everyone on edge. Lions being watched by gazelles.
"What can I get ya, boys?" He filled their coffee cups to the brim, steaming and black.
"Two eggs over easy and some hash browns, please."
"Sausage and pancakes." He felt the weight of Hal's reproachful gaze. "Please."
"You betcha."
Snippets of conversation washed over their heads. The weather. Who was planting what crop and when. How the winter wheat had fared. 'Two old Norwegians walk into a bar...' But they were silent, unable to buoy a simple conversation. Dave basked in the sunlight, letting it warm his face and hands. Hal kept a watchful eye on the door and the sidewalk outside. He had to be the alert one. He knew he could never let his guard down again.
But what could they possibly talk about? The only things of pertinence were investigating Dave's condition, finding a way to dispose of the car, and everything that had transpired last night. Neither man was keen to talk about the latter part of the evening. It had happened, it was wonderful, but... what were they supposed to do, discuss their feelings? Hal let one portion of his brain dance along in silent elation, let the half of his mouth invisible to the restaurant curl upwards in delight. It had happened. Miracle of miracles. And it would happen again, in all likelihood. As long as he could keep them safe, keep them alive. Would they ever get to the comfortable point where he could simply run his fingers along the line of Dave's ribs, just for the sheer pleasure of it? God, he hoped they would.
But such musings were fruitless, distracting, and he pushed it from his mind. He spotted the rack of newspapers and adverts in the corner, stood methodically so as not to startle Dave, grabbed one and sat back down.
"Cars," was his one word explanation. Dave nodded.
"How about a truck instead? You know, something we could use to tow it." Great idea. His eyes scanned down the page. Cars, cars, SUVs, farm equipment... There were a dozen trucks, most far too expensive to be practical.
"92 Dodge Dakota, no mileage listed. $800."
"That's only two wheel drive. Any others?"
"87 Chevy Silverado, good tires. $750, or best offer."
"Decent, as long as it runs. Want to take a look at it?" Hal shrugged.
"Sure, but I don't think we have any other options right now. Those were the only two less than four thousand." Their food arrived and silence settled again, save for the clinking of forks and knives.
Hunger satiated, they returned to their apartment. Hal dialed the number, let it ring until it hit the fast busy. No answering machine. He tried again, eight rings, and finally a voice. They'd meet in an hour, a farm far to the west of the city. Hal counted out a stack of twenties from one of their stashes in the apartment. Funds were getting low, again. Before they left this city behind for good, he would have to dedicate another afternoon to collect small random 'donations'.
He ducked out of the apartment and quickly found the abandoned warehouse from last night. Picked the lock like a veteran, listening with relief as the car's engine turned over.
"Just once more, baby, I promise." He muttered, pulling the battered car into the street slowly, driving to the rear of their apartment where Snake waited, clutching the stair railing.
The next stop was the the U-Haul by the interstate, where 'Nick Llewellyn' procured a tow dolly. Two twenties gone, but it was a worthwhile investment. The dolly wouldn't be coming back.
Then they were back on the road before the bullet holes and dried blood garnered too many curious stares, too many unvoiced questions. The less impact, the better.
The farm was found easily enough, the farmer all too accommodating. The truck was in poor but serviceable condition. Snake sat in the Subaru while they bargained, arms folded over his chest. The stubble on his chin was was a few days long and his countenance plus sunglasses screamed menace. Hal allowed the man's honest gaze to fall over the figure in the car, the car itself. This time he invited the unspoken questions. Begged the worry to rise in his mind - did he really want to tarry with a man like this? A man associated with bullet holes and blood. A man with frightening friends. Did the ad say seven fifty? That must have been a mistake. No, no, six hundred was okay, and more than the truck was worth. Could he help with the hitch?
Bills exchanged, Hal accepted his help, attached the dolly to the Chevy, drove the Subaru onto it, and strapped the wheels down. They were gone in a matter of minutes.
"Did you talk him down a hundred dollars?"
"Hundred and fifty," he said with a shy smile.
"I never figured you for a negotiator."
It was easy enough to get lost on the plains. An hour, a few random turns, and Hal had found a place forsaken of inhabitants, where the pavement ended and turned into dust. The time between passed amicably, country and bluegrass music on the radio, Dave next to him, silent, but a pleasant companion. It gave him time to get used to the truck, to the way it sounded, quivers in the steering, how it shifted doubtfully from one gear to the next. Not the best replacement, but it would do. He pulled the truck a short distance into a fallow field, careful not to wander too deep lest the spring mud stick both vehicles in place. He shut off the truck and proceeded to undo the hitch. The Subaru was in neutral, so once it was unfastened, he recruited Dave's help to simply push it off the dolly. It rolled back into the soft dirt, suspension bouncing lightly before coming to a rest.
"I feel like I should say a few words," he muttered while retrieving the gas can from the trunk. Perhaps it was a bit of a ceremony, he thought while unscrewing the cap, sprinkling the upholstery liberally with gasoline. It had been such a faithful servant, humbly carrying their gear from city to city, quietly bearing the burden of long miles on the road, ferrying them through bad weather, gloriously charioting Dave away from a hail of bullets. It had crated them long, uncertain miles into Canada and back.
But now it was a liability. With the remainder of those maniacs looking for them, it was a bright red target on their backs. Dave offered him the glowing end of his cigarette. He tossed it lightly onto the drivers seat, watching the fire spread in a quick halo of blue and yellow. It gathered speed, flying to the back seat, to the dash. The whole car quickly became a glowing ember. Hal felt an impossible tightness in his eyes. This was a car, for crying out loud?!
"It was a good car." Dave grunted in assent and Hal, overcome with the silence they'd borne on the trip, the unreasonable emotion, grasped Dave's face and smothered him with a long, deep kiss. He didn't flinch away, returning it, wrapping his hands around Hal's waist. Their tongues twined until the heat reached their faces.
"Time to go." The truck started and they were back on the road by the time the fire had melted the gasket around the firewall. It entered the engine, found the fuel line, the tank, and burst into a ball of flame.
***
By mid afternoon they'd found their way back to the apartment, the truck parked outside in their customary spot. Now that the immediate needs had been addressed, they could return their focus to diagnosing Dave's blindness. He'd shown no improvement save for slowly adapting to the loss of his sight. He found the couch without issue, made himself comfortable, and poured a glass of warm vodka left on the coffee table while Hal prepared to check his retinas. Mei Ling had sent instructions, so he was hovering over the gas oven now, sterilizing the smooth handle of a butter knife over a lit burner.
Job done, he set it on a clean paper towel to cool and fetched an eyedropper and the atropene from their expanding first aid kit. Hal watched as Dave sipped the vodka, draining the glass to the bottom.
"I'm going to put a few drops of the atropene into each of your eyes, okay?" He approached slowly, kneeling on the couch while Dave obediently leaned his head on the back of the couch. He added a few drops to one, then the other, watching Dave blink quickly in reaction, spreading it across the surface. "It's probably a little cold, but soon you won't be able to feel it. The atropene will dilate your pupils and will numb your eyes. It will probably feel weird."
"Hmm. Thanks for the heads up." Hal rose to check on the knife handle. Dave poured himself another glass.
The metal was cooling quickly, but he'd give the atropene at least ten minutes to work. Hal busied himself by finding a flashlight instead. After a successful search, he returned to the couch to find Dave rubbing his eyelids in small circles.
"Feels damn odd." As he lowered his fingers, Hal was met with the same sight as last night, his pupils wide and black. It was unnerving.
"I'd expect so, but that's good, means we have the best shot at doing this right. I-I mean..." He was nervous now as he gripped the knife blade and straddled Dave's hips. What if he screwed up? What if he slipped? What if he caused more damage than was already done?
He turned on the flashlight and popped the end of it in his mouth. With his left hand he gingerly spread open Dave's eyelids. His right hand shook slightly, and he took a deep breath. He could tell the soldier was holding his. They trusted each other implicitly, but this was delicate... He shone the flashlight into his wide pupil and pushed gently on the white sclera of his eye with the smooth end of the handle. The light shone through the vitreous humour and the blood vessels stood out in stark contrast. But there was no movement. No quivering and disconnected retina. No torn tissue bleeding out into the center of his eye.
Hal realized he was holding his breath as well and let it out in a long sigh around the end of the flashlight, hands falling to his sides.
"Well, that's good news on one. Let's see about the other." He repeated the same procedure on Dave's other eye, but again, there was no movement, no ripped fibers. His retinas were intact.
"Now what? I was half hoping you'd find something." Dave blinked rapidly, trying futilely to bring feeling back to his eyes and lids. "All this means is we still have no clue what's causing this." Hal was in the kitchen, washing the knife, putting the flashlight away.
"I'm glad there's no visible damage, but... Damn it. I just wish I knew what was wrong." They both felt powerless. "I'm sending another message to Mei Ling." The next step would be admitting Dave to a hospital. Which would mean fake IDs, faked medical records, falsified insurance... They were nearing the end of their rope. What choice did they have?
Both men spent the next day packing up the apartment. It was such a routine now that it was almost comforting, packing up their few belongings. Dave was able to pack his clothes and the kitchen utensils, Hal picked up the few weapons lying around, their essential bathroom supplies, non-essential computer equipment. His primary laptop was busying picking routing numbers at random, siphoning five dollar 'administration' fees into their various shell accounts. He scooped the perpetually packed boxes of anime and manga from under his bed. Countless trips between the truck and the apartment, up and down the stairs, brought a light sheen of sweat to his brow. It was so much easier when there were two people to help ferry boxes. The ammunition boxes would be last, covered securely with a bed sheet.
They were uprooting themselves from the city they'd lived in for over seven months. They'd had time to learn the pattern of the streets, the lazy-twangy dialect of the residents, where the cheapest liquor stores were, the name of the girl at the post office. It was longer than any other place they'd lived. The routine and the silent occupation was comforting, even if the end goal was not.
Arms full of boxes, one beep from the laptop told Hal their accounts had reached a plump sum. On the return trip, the beeping was continuous, a warning. He jogged over to the laptop, swiftly unclipping the network cable.
"How's it coming?"
"All boxed up," Dave called from the bathroom.
"Good, let's get on the road."
Bozeman, Montana was their destination. A change of scenery, a chance to disappear. The sky was dusky as Hal placed the last week's rent on the coffee table, closed the door, and pushed the keys under the sill. If he drove all night, they would be in Bozeman in the morning. If anyone had seen their Subaru driving northwards to Canada the week prior, the mercenaries would head towards Manitoba. That was the only lead they could pursue. As soon as they were out of Bismarck, their trail would be cold.
Under mid-morning sun, Hal and Dave crated their belongings out of the truck and into a small, rundown farmhouse at the edge of Bozeman. The mountains rose thickly behind the house, a light dusting of white still clinging to the ridges. The valley spread out in front of them, more mountains framing it, these fading off into a gentle blue. It was gorgeous. Hal's fingers itched for a camera. Then his eyes caught Dave's figure, shuffling uncertainly towards the porch steps. They creaked under his weight, desperately in need of attention. The breathtaking panorama which encircled them, and Dave could barely make it up the stairs without stumbling.
Hal crated the boxes into the house one by one and Dave sorted through them with probing fingers. Bathroom - important. Kitchen - important. He had to learn the new layout of the house before he could be confident enough to carry each to their designated room.
An hour or so later, Hal finished unloading the truck. There was no furniture save three chairs around a small kitchen table. He'd have to remedy that tomorrow. He set about unpacking the air mattress from one box, inflated it with their small electric air compressor, and collapsed in fatigue.
After about a week, Dave was finding his way around the house with confidence, near speed. Tense days passed while they waited for a reply from Mei Ling. She was difficult to reach, again. Just what was she up to?
When she finally checked in, the satellite vid feed showed dark circles under her eyes, but a bright smile on her lips.
"Otacon, Snake - how are you?"
"Never better."
"Don't mind him, he's just cranky from being cooped up. How are you?"
"Excellent. Despite the lack of progress in diagnosis, I think I have a promising option." She detailed her work over the past month, replete with diagrams and sketches. "It seems we were not the only ones interested in Project Horus. I went through the Department of Defense servers to try and find their research results and found records of two entities requesting copies of files in the past year. You'll never guess who." Hal's eyebrows quirked. For the hell of it, he asked.
"Who?"
"A Doctor G. Bennet and a Doctor N. Hunter. I couldn't find much of anything on Bennet, except for the fact he'd been in and out of dozens of records for classified projects. However, I had quite a good idea who Dr Hunter was." She detailed attempts made to track down Naomi, including a fruitless trip to Boston and a flight to her last known location in Gaborone, Botswana. The trail had, as expected, gone cold. "She's done quite a good job of disappearing. I still haven't been able to get in touch with her." Hal grasped the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Does that mean we're back at square one?"
"Not necessarily. I'm not a doctor, but I could guess what her aims were when she accessed the Horus data. Nanomachines. That's her forte, correct?" Of course. It all made sense now. She was likely trying to gather data on eyesight repair and augmentation to modify it for use in her ever-adapting array of microscopic creations. "Why can't we do the same?" The image of her impish, smiling face was replaced with a command line screen which rapidly filled with line after line of glaring white text.
Hal's eyes raced back and forth as it scrolled. It was only a few pages, but it was a solid outline of nerve reconstruction instructions for the nanomachines swimming in Dave's veins. Hal's lips split into a grin as he read the first few lines.
void axonSearch () {
int loc [3] = {x, y, z};
bool axonFound = false;
while (axonFound == false) {
mobility(); //default movement function
axonFound = myelinCheck() //need to debug!! >_<
if (axonFound == true) {
signalLoc () = loc; //hive communication
}
}
Perhaps it wasn't perfect syntax, but it was a good beginning. That, and Mei Ling had gotten them off the ground with a crude networking tool, another procedure for finding the insulating myelin lipid nerve structures, and an adaptation of the machines' protein conversion sub-routine to build new umbilical lines of nodes and axons. It would be a herculean task to create new neurons. Instead, they could employ the nanobots to run neurotransmitter extension cords from Dave's eyes to his optical lobe. Hal rubbed his hands together unconsciously, nervous to begin.
Both he and Dave heartily thanked Mei Ling, promised to get in touch soon, and then Hal's fingers began buzzing off the keys.
The primary inhibitor was finding a way to allow the nanomachines to differentiate between specific optical nerves and all other sinews that ran through Dave's body. It would do no good, and perhaps a good deal of harm, if the little bots started replicating nerve tissue on each synapse they spotted. The sun had nestled between the mountains and the sky was pitch black before Hal was aware of the passage of time. Dave had kept busy by cleaning a few guns and lifting weights while Hal read through the notes from Project Horus.
"The retinohypothalamic tract can be identified through electrical stimulus. The distended axon characteristic of RGCs has been found to resist current in a factor of 10E-3 when compared with non-explicit synapse structures."
"Makes sense." Dave was a good sounding board, despite his lack of medical or programming knowledge. "The nanomachines generate their own electricity. This means they should be able to use it to identify these specific cells as a starting point." The man had an IQ of 160 after all. Hal murmured in agreement and then his fingers were off again. Dave wanted to interrupt him, but thought better of it, walking out onto the porch to light a cigarette instead. It was good to hear Hal's productivity, especially after the days upon weeks of impotent struggle.
The air was crisp, even if it was the end of April. Between drags, he filled his lungs with the mountain air, holding his breath to listen. They were not so far outside the small city that the soft engine rumble of trucks and cars didn't reach them. The night was especially still and his keen ears picked up the far away grinding of a train on tracks, soft, quick hoots from one owl, then another, somewhere distant in the trees. The dry grass rustled quietly behind him. Foxes, perhaps. He took another drag, listening. So much he would have missed just a month ago. His senses had always been sharp, but lacking sight, they were increased substantially. All the sounds of the night wafted in harmony around him, accompanied by the staccato tapping of Hal's fingers. He lit another cigarette.
Perhaps it was the fleeting and ethereal connection he felt with the world at that moment. His chest tightened, keying in on Hal's busy digits. He heard him sigh, then pause. Hal. The engineer was never far from his thoughts, but they had barely connected since that stolen night over a week ago in Bismarck, recovering from the the car chase. He remembered Hal's lips on his as he brought the second cigarette to his mouth again, finishing it in one long drag. Was it his fault? He'd gone right back into his routine instead of using those precious few minutes in the early morning to put his feelings into words. It was too difficult to reach across, make that connection. Between where he was and where he wanted to be was a vast emotional chasm he couldn't breach.
The typing began again, falteringly, and Dave heard him sigh frustratedly. Perhaps the coding wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. Dave stubbed out the dead butt with the toe of his shoe. The typing stopped again and he heard Hal crack his knuckles one by one, chewing a problem over in his head. He couldn't proof the code for Hal, couldn't help him debug it, but there was one thing he could help with. He padded back up the porch steps and found him in the living room by sound. Dave rested his hands on Hal's hunched shoulders, working his thumbs in circles between his spine and shoulder blades.
"What do you say to giving that a break for tonight. I can tell you're stressed out."
"I have to keep going, I won't make any progress by dawdling."
"Yes, but if you're stuck right now, you need a break. I'm sure you'll be fresh and full of ideas in the morning." Dave added pressure with his fingers to Hal's tight trapezius, earning a small grunt, conceding.
"Alright, you win... My brain is dead tonight anyway. And all the characters are starting to bleed together."
"Good," a small smile set itself on Dave's features. "Turn off the computer and come sit on the couch." Hal moved his fingers on the keyboard.
"There, it's shut down."
"Bullshit," he chided. "I can hear that high pitched electric whine. Fan's still on. Monitor too."
"Aw, you suck." Hal shut it down for real this time and Dave noted the quiet hush when the LCD powered down. "Happy?"
"Getting there." The smile was evident in his tone. "Sit on the couch." Hal stood up, popping his neck, cracking his elbows, and shuffled over to sit.
The solider followed behind and resumed the slow deliberate massage. He worked his fingers up the back of Hal's neck, rubbing out all the little knots that had formed during the day's efforts. All the way up to his hairline, then back down, working his way out to his shoulders. There was a spot halfway between which made Hal groan deliciously as he worked it out. Dave spent extra time there, then continued on down his back. He tugged at the hem of his shirt and Hal wordlessly agreed, pulling it over his head. Dave continued to massage his skin, working his knuckles along Hal's spine, his fingertips gently prodding along the edge of his shoulder blades.
"Your hands are so warm," Hal murmured, eyes closing. Dave continued down to the small of his back, then back up, working in little circles, bigger circles, everywhere. Touching and rubbing every square centimeter of skin. He found himself wanting to move in, press his nose against his back, breathe in his smell, run his lips over his skin. The desire was so strong and he heard Hal's breath quicken. It was overpowering now, and he ran the tip of his nose up his neck, burying it in the short curls at he base of his head. He drank in his scent, almonds and earthy like before - never stopping his hands, which were now perched on his shoulders, flexing and rubbing. He let his face wander to Hal's shoulder line, pressing his open lips against his skin, slow kisses trailing out to his shoulder while his hands worked down his arms, holding them firmly.
"Hal..." he breathed it into his skin and the engineer responded with a shaky sigh, tipping his head back. Dave took the opportunity to nestle his face into his exposed neck, kissing then sucking on his throat. He could feel Hal swallow, breath becoming raspy. His sensitive mouth transcribed the rapid pulse through his jugular, his tongue and lips hungry on his skin as if savoring a sweet, rapidly melting dessert. The feel, the smells, the knowledge that Hal was fast losing control, reacting to his touch, brought a rush of blood to his groin. The scientist half-whispered, half-moaned his name. It didn't take much more before Dave was fully erect and seriously contemplating pushing his pelvis closer to Hal, dry rubbing against him to find some kind of relief.
No, he didn't want to move things so fast. At least the small screaming rational portion of his brain was pleading with him to slow down. The rest of his body, ever nerve fiber begged him to rut against Hal like a crazed animal. He growled in frustration, inner confusion, biting Hal lightly, winning a strangled whimper laced with desire from the other's mouth. That was it, he couldn't fucking take it. His healed arms, strong again, turned Hal around on the couch, searching desperately for his mouth. Hal's fine hands settled on either side of his face, guiding their hungry lips together. Their tongues tangled frantically, probing the soft secret spaces of each other's mouth. Dave buried his fingers in his hair, running his fingernails along his scalp, feeling the smooth curls slide against his palms. Hal's hands meanwhile found occupation along the soldier's waistline, caressing the well defined muscles along his ribs. Up, further along the lines of his chest, up to his shoulders. They broke apart momentarily so Hal could pull his shirt over his head. Dave flung it blindly and resumed his hungry exploration of the scientist's face.
Hal was desperate to get closer, so he pushed their bodies together, flinging his legs over Dave's. Their chests slid against each other, a light sheen of sweat coating skin. It seemed ages since they'd last touched. All his pent up longing and frustration crystallized into frantic energy. He rocked his hips against Dave's, starting an electric rhythm to which the other man responded willingly, moaning his gratitude into Hal's mouth. But only so much could be accomplished with restrictive clothing barring the way. Hal's fingers worked quickly at Dave's new belt buckle, the button, the zipper. Dave broke away for a few moments to peel off his jeans, boxers. Hal drank in the sight, all the easy strength rippling under his skin, all that skin shimmering, miles and miles of it, and his urgent insistent erection, swelled and begging to be touched.
Hal quickly stood and shed the last of his clothing, then pulled Dave back down to the couch, on top, warm skin connecting, burning need brushing, sending electricity to their brains and out their mouths in gasps and groans. Dave ground against him, desperately, wanton. Hal coated his hand thickly with his own saliva and wormed it between their boiling bodies, wrapping them together in a strong grip.
"Oh god, oh... Hal..." Dave's mind was blown, gone, just the shell of him still conscious, stripped down to animal instincts, pleasure smothering him. Hal watched in fascination as Dave's mouth grew slack, eyes rolling back in his head of their own volition. It was perfect, he was too beautiful and the splendor of the moment overwhelmed him and shortly they were both tumbling over the edge, erupting, cum bathing Hal's hand and spilling onto their stomachs.
It took a minute, maybe more, before their breathing slowed. As their bodies cooled, their focus turned to more mundane tasks. Getting clean, getting sleep. They stood awkwardly, suddenly uneasy in each other's presence. Dave retreated to the bathroom first and Hal perched on the couch, contemplating what just happened. He couldn't let them lapse into silence and inaction again. Couldn't let their relationship cleave further into two separate and distinct factions. He wouldn't allow them to bury something this precious under the surface, waiting for it to boil only after weeks of crippling frustration and inaction. He couldn't be separated from Dave any longer. Not by a mile, not by an arm length, not by an inch. He shuffled timidly into the bathroom, watching Dave in the mirror.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Are you going to take a shower?" Dave pondered this for a beat.
"Yeah, I think I might."
"Mind... mind if I take one with you?" Dave looked up, into the mirror, sightless eyes fixed somewhere in the vicinity of Hal's face. Chewed on it.
"Mmm... sure." A grin split Hal's face, relieved and energized. He reached into the shower stall, turned on the water, testing it a bit to make sure it was nice and hot. He stepped in and Dave was close behind him, rinsing the product of their exertions down the drain.
"Want me to wash your back?" Dave gave a noncommittal shrug and Hal proceeded to lather his arms, hands, then scrubbed all over Dave's back. Not too hard, not too light. A hint of fingernails. A soft sigh slipped out of Dave's mouth and his shoulders relaxed. "See, it's not so bad." Hal said lightly mocking, trying to lift the unexplained sullen mood. Dave chuckled softly.
"No, no, it's not so bad." And after a half minute, "thanks."
"I'll get your hair, too." It didn't take long to wash his short strands and soon the conditioner was rinsed out. Dave returned the favor, gentle hands working through his sodden curls. The day's grease and the last bit of uneasy tension dripped through his fingers and down the drain.
Once they were clean, Dave's bed seemed like a much better option than the couch, and much better still than separate beds. Hal found himself quickly wrapped in Dave's arms, pulled against his chest.
"Thank you," Dave whispered into his hair. "Sometimes I can be an ass."
"No problem," Hal conceded with a smile, not arguing. "Night."
"Night."
***
When Hal woke the next morning, Dave was still there, although they'd switched positions and the solider was on his back, Hal's arm draped haphazardly across his chest. The sunlight glinted into the room, drawing patterns across Dave's skin. Hal lazily traced them with his finger, watching the dust motes sparkle in and out of existence as they drifted downwards. How long had he dreamed about this?
It wasn't long before Dave woke, stirred by the warmth of the sun and the motions of Hal's curious fingertips.
"Morning."
Dave yawned. "Morning."
Hal gave him a short sweet kiss and then ambled off to the bathroom. There was a method about his madness. A kiss - simple, sweet, casual. He was determined to craft this into an everyday occurrence, not a rarity.
He exited and plopped back down on the bed, letting Dave take his turn. He waited. He didn't get dressed, didn't wander out to the kitchen for breakfast. He waited. He filled his mind with thoughts of last night. Dave's amazing body, his reactions, the way his fingers felt, his open lips. He still felt the warmth of his hands trailing over his back and chest.
Dave returned and Hal made damn sure that he was hard, pumping himself, and moaning slightly, enticingly.
"Hal?"
"Ye- yes?" He was breathing hard at this point too, aroused by the boldness of his plan, by Dave's proximity.
"Are - you?" He let the words hang in the air, listening to Hal's breathy moans. He stood grounded for a few pulse-pounding seconds, then slowly but surely shuffled over to the bed. He knelt down and reached out for Hal, his hands ghosting over his skin, unsure of his location. Hal's skin was on fire. The pads of Dave's fingers rippled over his skin, searching. They smoothed over his calves, his knees, his thighs, touching lightly on his inside thigh, stretching, reaching to where his fingers fisted around his erection, stroking hard. He was gasping by now and Dave's body reacted accordingly, tightening the skin around his balls, filling his penis with hot blood, ready and eager to join in. Dave had just started stroking his own shaft and the sight of it combined with the electricity of the moment sent Hal over the edge, gasping his name as he came.
Uneasy silence again settled between them until Hal, riding down his climax, let out a short little breathy laugh.
"See? See what you do to me? Just your goddamn fingers. Just your presence." Dave silenced him with a hungry kiss.
"God, Hal. I can't..." words failed. "Don't think for a moment you're finished here." They both grinned and Hal playfully pushed Dave down, straddling his legs.
"No. No, I'm not." His last words danced around Dave's erect penis, begging for contact. He obliged by lowering his lips, sucking it into his warm mouth one slow inch at a time. Dave's breath came in quick harsh gasps, and his hands found their way naturally into Hal's hair, caressing and pulling gently. His mouth was pure heat and wet suction, driving him insistently mad. Beatitudes dripped from his lips.
"Hal- oh, oh... God. You-" He uttered a low, guttural moan, unable to form coherent thought. His brows knitted as Hal increased the pressure, massaging with his tongue, pulling him in further and harder. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, the suddenness of his attack, the bare eroticism of the moment in the stark and silent room. And Hal's words - they were burying their hot little way into his mind. He gasped again and released his passion into Hal's mouth.
The scientist wiped his lips and lay down beside him, panting for breath.
"You- are a man- of many talents." He smoothed his fingers through Hal's soft curls.
"I know." A devilish smirk crossed his face. All these endorphins were making him cocky, self-confident. "You haven't seen half of it." He'd caught his breath so he bent down to Dave's softening cock, lapping carefully to clean him. His ministrations had the added benefit of slowly bringing him back to a state of full arousal.
"You bastard." Hal grinned and reached to the nightstand where he'd conveniently left some hand lotion from the bathroom. Emboldened, he squirted a generous dollop on his fingers, wiping some onto Dave's beating member, stuffing the rest slowly and gently into himself. His index finger worked slowly in and out, probing, stretching. He made little involuntary noises as he worked, adding his middle finger, then the start of his ring finger. "Dave..." his voice was a whisper, thready with anticipation. God, he wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel the soldier inside of him, wanted to stare into his eyes as he came. He was addictingly attractive, but nothing short of stunning when he climaxed. Hal was already drunk on the sight with only two brief glimpses.
Dave quirked an eyebrow, not totally sure of what Hal was up to. But then he heard the little gasps and propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out tentatively. His fingers connected with Hal's engorged penis, a whimper escaping from the touch. No, he wasn't stroking himself. He was - well, he was preparing himself for Dave. The realization crashed over him like a wave. He was at once stunned and excited and scared. Were they ready for this? Was Hal ready? It seemed like he was pushing for too much this morning. Dave's heart clenched at the idea of running this too raw, taking too much from their new relationship before it even began.
"Hal? Are you sure?"
"Yes. God, yes. I want you so bad." It was a rush of words, one long husky gasp. Hal pushed him down on the bed and straddled him again, but his words were tenative. "Is this okay?" Two words bounced around in Dave's head, then came exploding out his mouth at once.
"Yes. Now." Hal positioned himself and slowly worked the head of Dave's penis inside his opening. It was fire: feeling mixed with flame. He sunk down farther, accepting him slowly, adjusting himself to the new and wonderful feeling of flesh inside his own. Dave's flesh. Dave.
One hand was on the soldier's thigh, the other on his stomach, supporting his weight. Dave settled his fingers over Hal's. His world was eroding again, down to just two points - little choked moans of pleasure and tight hot walls squeezing him. The warm sun through the window was forgotten. The sounds of the outside world - the distant trains, the birds, the cars - this was not part of their world. Even the soft sheets beneath him failed to exist. It was just he and Hal, and barely even that, just two sentient points of wild pleasure in his black world. Hal rode him, up and down, harder, pounding, then slower, softer, and back again. Dave couldn't contain the moans from his chest, they leaked out from his throat into Hal's ears, encouraging him. Dave's hands moved to Hal's hips, gripping, guiding.
Then to Hal's shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts. He tossed his head back into the pillows, blind and wild, base instinct soaking in and stealing away rational thought. Hal's toes curled, watching Dave's throat arc, his adam's apple bob, and his hips pound into him. They were perfect, everything about the moment perfect, everything that had brought them to this point. Perfect. He clenched hard around Dave and erupted onto his stomach, his chest. His eyes wide, pupils blown, Dave thrust twice more and lost himself buried inside Hal.
Hal collapsed next to him, a warm presence wrapped around his side. The world slowly re-formed. The sunlight. The trains. The birds, cars, sheets. But it was only brief as everything became muzzy and they both sank into pleasant sleep.
Chapter 6