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Keegan surveilled the area with the scope of his sniper. He enjoyed the silence his position gave him during some missions; it calmed him. However, most of his team, like Hesh or Merrick, wouldn’t be able to stay in their positions for hours like he did, alone, compromised, and without a spotter. Without anyone to talk to.
His finger hovered over the trigger. This felt right. He was in place here; this was his purpose.
Aim, breathe in, hold, and shoot. Headshot. He grunted, shouldering his rifle, getting up into a crouched position, and sneaking off the balcony of the ruined building he was stationed onto. Keegan was well aware that if he ever missed, he was most likely fucked, since he wouldn’t be able to shoot again from the same position, the risk too big of being discovered. Killing one of their own made the enemies patrol scare, disband, or even run like a frightened chicken. His position getting located would mean K.I.A or even worse, M.I.A for him. He quietly rushed down the stairs, missing the creaking spots with cautiousness. The Ghost was used to this, ruins of cities and streets destroyed by tanks or bombs. Walls were ridden with bullet holes. People used to call this city their home, and now it was a warzone; Keegan hated the shame and anger he felt burning in his gut when he thought about how many civilians had to die because of the federation.
His thoughts trailed off as he set up in his new position, a second-story window of an old factory. He thought about the Walker brothers, how they had told him heavy-heartedly over a bottle of beer about their home, how they had told him how O.D.I.N. had annihilated it all. He didn’t pity them, but he had felt regretful about it. He felt the same when Elias died. If he could’ve been quicker, those kids wouldn’t also have lost their father, as he had many years ago. Fuck, Keegan missed that sorry fucker sometimes, despite him almost killing Ajax and him being responsible for Elias’ death. Before being taken by the federation, Rorke was always there for him. He had made sure the by then 16-year-old made it back home from operation: Sandviper. Ajax almost dying was the first time he felt repulsion and hostility against their former leader. He had lost comrades to him, but the way he went for Ajax was personal. It hurt seeing his best friend between life and death; a knife plunged into his chest, his lip split, and blood stained his uniform.
Keegan snapped back into reality at the quiet footsteps in the manufacturing hall underneath him. He pulled his secondary weapon off his back and angled it between the guardrails underneath him, hoping that the nighttime would cover him and the moonlight wouldn’t expose his position to what he assumed had to be an enemy; he got ready to shoot quickly and quietly. But instead, the metal skullmask identifying the person underneath him made him freeze for a moment. He waited a heartbeat longer to see if he was alone before calling out to the mountain of a man. It was Mace, their connection between them and a group of mercenaries who he seemed to work with, who also hated the federation. The man now looked up at the sniper before nodding shortly at Keegan, who pointed at a flight of stairs leading him to his position. A few seconds later, Mace had joined him, leaning against the wall next to him, watching the leaner man finish setting up his station, looking up at Mace before returning his eyes through his scope.
“Didn’t know you would be here.” He exclaimed frankly, voice low and hoarse, which made Mace snort quietly and crossed his arms. “Grabbing a file for a new target. Some higher up, mostly classified, sorry.” Mace explains briefly before kneeling behind Keegan to peek over his shoulder. “Thanks for clearing the way, Kingshot.”
Keegan froze, and a shiver ran down his spine. Kingshot rolled so smoothly off Mace’s tongue; it sounded so naturalistic. He let his shoulders slouch, keeping his eyes trained on the scope. Mace’s corners of his mouth twitched upwards; he slid his hands around Keegan’s slender waist and crawled closer behind him, pressing his back against the others. “You like that, don’t you? I didn’t know a haphazard nickname I gave you during our first meeting would get you all cushy for me." The click of Keegan’s belt and the pressure on his waist taking off caused him to inhale a little more rigid. “Stay observant.” Mace scolded him, dragging his pants off his ass and down to his thighs, cupping his ass through his boxers, gripping and massaging him. He was used to the Ghost being quiet. The first time they did this, he couldn’t even make him moan; the most he got out of him was a whimper.
Keegan’s body spoke for his words; it made up for everything. The way he twisted, shuddered, jerked, and grasped onto Mace or the sheets. Keegan heard a shuffle and clunking of metal hitting the floor before his boxers followed his pants, and a wet finger brushed over his hole, making him jump forward, to which Mace growled quietly and tugged him back against him by his hips. “Don’t fucking move. Keep your eyes on the enemy.”
Keegan bit his lower lip when the first finger entered him, stretching him out, curling and twisting before a second one got added shortly after. Mace scissored them apart before he slid them in to his knuckles, curling them upwards, studying Keegan’s insides. The sniper was exhaling shakily and huffing, keeping his eyes trained forward through the scope, as Mace had demanded. Still, focusing on anything but the fingers rubbing over the little bundle of nerves slowly got challenging. Keegan let out a faint mewl and bit his lip harder at the gradually building-up pleasure when Mace skimmed his fingers right over his prostate, keeping his touches surprisingly light. “Mace.” Keegan bit out between gritted teeth when the torturous slow stretching went on for what had felt like fifteen minutes. Logically he knew it probably had only been two or three; they didn’t have the time for that. The man behind him hummed, entertained, and pulled his fingers out in one go. He pulled up Keegan’s balaclava and hat him spit onto the palm on his hand with a quiet “be good.” He proceeded to grab his hips again after slicking himself up, and manhandled him by pulling his thighs further apart, pressed a hand on his lower back, and forced him to arch his back just a little more before Keegan felt Mace’s tip at his entrance, teasing him with thrusts against his ass, spreading Keegans own spit between his cheeks, but not sliding in, having Keegan grunt and groan dissatisfied.
He shut his eyes, and his head sagged forward when Mace finally breached him with one single thrust. The mercenary grabbed the piece, where his nightvision was attached to his helmet, yanked his head back up hard, and leaned forward to his ear. “I told you to keep your eyes on the enemy. Don’t think that works with your head turned towards the floor.” The mocking had Keegan clench around Mace, air smacked straight out of his lungs, and he swallowed hard. “Please move already. I’ll try. I’m sorry.” Keegan bit back, pressing his hips into Mace, who captured him with one hand and held him in place before dragging him back up with the other hand on his helmet. “I don’t want you to try. I want you to do better, Russ. Got it? Or do I have to write it down so you will comprehend it?” Mace ridiculed and taunted him, and it went straight to Keegan’s cock, making him whimper and bite back a moan when Mace finally settled for a harsh and brutal pace.
Keegan had a lot of control over himself, but keeping his eyes open became almost unattainable. Spit wasn’t the best lube, but for their current circumstances, it had to do. The tight heat around Mace’s cock was mouthwatering, and he greedily buried himself in the guy beneath him, taking pleasure from him in the most pleasing way imaginable. Mace took a moment to watch Keegan fall apart under him, how his knees buckled with every thrust, a quiver ran down his spine, and how desperately he tried to keep his eyes open, all while Mace merely held him in place with a firm hand on his hip. He knew that if he wanted, Keegan could overpower him; he wasn’t weak. Mace loved how slim his waist was and how effortlessly he could leave bruises on his pale skin. The first time they did this was a couple of months back. Their squads hid in a safehouse overnight, and Mace and Keegan ended up on the lookout together. It was hurried, hushed by Mace’s hand covering the other’s mouth and himself biting into Keegan’s shoulder. Over the few times they did this, he learned quite a lot about the other, even if it was just tiny things.
Keegan hated taking any of his gear off during missions, even if they were out of danger and in safety. He always had a switchblade on him, and there was a long scar down his shoulder blade from what he expressed was made by a piece of metal slashing him open while fleeing a flooding city. His endurance was insane, just like his stamina. Mace was rough and brutal, but Keegan took it, enjoying the bruises and aches on his body afterward. He also learned that Keegan required words of reassurance after, even if he didn’t appear as he did.
He grinned as he leaned forward to Keegan’s ear, rasping into it. “Once we have a day off or our teams stay together somewhere, I'm going to make you sing. Have you moan and cry on my cock, fuck you out until I even break YOUR stamina. I will have you beg and cry for my cock to fill you up as if you were just another whore I paid to fuck. You’re going to feel so good. I’m going to make you see stars, you hear me? Have you cum until you almost pass out from sheer exhaustion. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Then, breed you into submission and total obedience.” He chuckled when a moan slipped out between Keegan’s pressed-shut lips, and he clenched down on his dick, whimpering.
Mace then sighed and pressed himself flush against the other’s body, angling his thrusts into his prostate, and by the way, the other writhed and twitched; he figured he was close. “I got you. You’re doing so well. Let go, Keegan.” He never slowed or softened his thrusts, kept up the cruel and rapid pace, feeling the sniper come apart under him and rock into a sobbed orgasm, shaking all over and knees giving out, having him hold against the windowsill, his sniper was propped onto. The nearly animalistic thrusts, with all the soft words, gave the Ghost almost whiplash. Mace huffed, satisfied, and kept fucking him through it, fucked more pants and wails out of his throat, overstimulated him, but held him reassuringly and muttered surprisingly delicate words into his ear until he buried himself deep inside Keegan and filled him up.
They stayed like this for a second longer, basking in each other’s presence and catching their breaths. When Mace pulled out, he couldn’t stop the lazy grin spread over his face when cum followed his dick. Keegan was still clinging to the windowsill, quivering, with teary eyes on his scope.
Mace pulled out a handkerchief of a pouch on his vest, cleaned Keegan up, got him back dressed, pulled out a bottle of water, held it to his lips, and watched him drink a few greedy sips. Then, as it seemed, he slowly returned to earth and shifted in his position. Mace leaned forward to his neck and pressed a brief kiss to the exposed skin before he adjusted the other’s balaclava and pulled his mask back over.
“I meant what I said. I want to fuck the shit out of you once we have time. I want to memorize your body nicely and take my time with you to learn how to satisfy and worship you better.” He stated, adjusting his clothes and pocketing the handkerchief. Keegan listened to him, staring out the scope, before exhaling. “I have to sit out the next mission, so I might have the Ghosts base for myself for a while. You better show up when I text you.” And with that, his priority was entirely on his sniper and prey again.
Mace chuckled under his mask and picked up his gun before he headed for the stairs.
“Of course, Kingshot.”