Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction ❯ Solvent ❯ Solvent ( Chapter 1 )

MGS LJ Battle - Solvent

He couldn't wash the smell of gun solvent out of his hair. He scrubbed and scrubbed, but maybe it was better that way. Even after a shower, and loads of apple-scented shampoo, it was faintly pungent, but not overwhelming. An omnipresent reminder of what had transpired earlier in the afternoon.

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Snake had disassembled his M9 pistol, all the deadly components neutralized and scattered on top of the coffee table. The barrel, springs, receiver, all lay bare and awaiting his attention. The summer heat slunk in through the open window and engulfed the two men. Snake was sweaty and sticky and in that special type of mood where the heat is driving you mad and any little thing could set you off - but you manage to keep your temper. Just.
He'd removed his shirt hours ago and was sitting barefoot, just a pair of ratty torn jeans to slouch around in.
The heat was distracting Hal at his laptop, writing code but making no progress. His creativity and drive to work had evaporated in the atmosphere. The thin white t-shirt he was wearing clung to him in places as the sweat beaded up. Finally, he pushed away from the table with a grunt.
"I can't work, I can't work. It is SO HOT - why didn't we get an air-conditioner?" He only received a non-committal murmur from Snake. "I'm so hot I can't think." He stood up, shuffling over to Snake and the careful mess he'd made of the gun. "What're you doing?" It was a needless question, but he asked anyway. No response from Snake. "Can I help? I'm SO bored." He collapsed to his knees on the carpet. The petulant whine in his tone make Dave look up, half-grin on his face.
"Sure, grab a rag."

Dave showed him his non-linear categorization - which pieces were wiped, waiting for solvent, which were coated with solvent, waiting to be dried, and which were dried, waiting for a coating of oil. He showed him how to hold each piece so your fingers didn't get covered with the very-smelly solvent. It tingled slightly when it spilled over Hal's hand. He was making a mess of things and he knew it. The rag didn't so much contain the solvent, it wicked it up from the bottle and spread it everywhere. It was in his skin, under his fingernails, now dribbled on the coffee table and spreading towards pieces finished and oiled.
"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit." He tried mopping up the drops and the creeping film with the rag, but it was a disaster spiraling out of control. Dave chuckled lightly, watching the nerd fail utterly at helping him clean one simple gun. He reached across with a clean rag to pick up the pieces, brushing against Hal's hand inadvertently, sending sparks running up his veins. It caught him off-guard, but then, the heat did strange things to men. The chuckle died in his throat and he grabbed another clean rag, cupping it between his hands and wrapping Hal's wet greasy hands, one at a time, drying them before the solvent could make his skin raw. Their eyes locked and Dave could see the breath stilled in Hal's lungs.

For one, disbelieving moment, the air simmered around them, contemplating, ready to boil or freeze. Hal's eyes were slightly wide and the grey in his irises was piercing. He was so fragile, so inept, but the heat was dimpling his forehead with sweat and his lightly muscled arms shone. Bored... Nothing to do in the summer heat... His gaze was compelling, inviting. Dave dropped the rag and Hal's dried hand and cupped his chin. His lips parted slightly, a whispered gasp, and those grey eyes opened wider. It was one moment of pulse-pounding expectation and then their lips crashed together over the coffee table. Dave's hands wound into his hair, the omnipresent taste of bitter coffee on his lips. They opened further and his tongue curved sinuously between his teeth, desperately tasting the soft warm surfaces of Hal's mouth. The hand in his hair was joined by the other, pulling gently but insistently at the short strands. Hal breathed a slight whimper through their joined mouths and Dave's heart clenched at the sound, confirmation that this wasn't simply heat-induced insanity.

He was over the coffee table in an instant, grabbing Hal to his chest and pressing them both to the floor. The bottle of oil wobbled, wobbled, and then steadied on the table but the solvent tipped and spilled, all the contents soaking into the carpet and into Hal's hair. Unconcerned, they continued, kissing, fingers dancing over sweaty skin, Hal's nails clawing lightly on Dave's bare back. Their few remaining clothes were quickly shed and the lightning that crackled along their skin as they touched drew a deep growl from Dave's throat. He sucked on Hal's jugular, marking the skin, grinding their hips together, winning a choked moan from his lips. One hand steadied him and the other snaked between their bodies, grasping their straining cocks together and stroking at a furious pace. Neither would last long, he knew, not with the heat, not with the musky scent of sweat and guns in the air, and not with the thready moans leaking from their throats. All the muscles in his body were tight and the feeling of Hal below him, desperate and needy, was too much. How had they gotten to this point? So much unknown tension that one touch would send them over the edge, drive them together, their naked bodies primal and writhing on the floor. Dave fell into white oblivion as his orgasm hit, Hal following shortly thereafter. His teeth sunk into Hal's shoulder, not breaking the skin, but releasing his fervor and claiming him.

Hours later, after a tepid shower, the solvent was still in Hal's hair. It was musky and acrid and make his hair crinkle. He walked out of the bath, toweling his hair, a lascivious glint in his eyes now that their subconscious intentions were clear.
"Do you have any more guns to clean?"

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