Work Text:
Like most recent mornings, David woke up on his own: no alarms, no loud bangs or rushed footsteps, just the feel of his nightwear digging into his skin – a simple grey shirt and same colour sweatpants. The white sheets he's under provide a solid protection from the cold on their own, however, he felt he may need to use some more cover up with his new roommate present. He's not at some base or institution, surrounded by cold metal walls. No, he's back at his cabin, with the wood echoing everything throughout the rooms. Squinting, he sees there was barely any light coming inside with the blinds closed, painting the room in a grey halftone. It was cloudy. He looked over to the nightstand on his left, clock stating 9.22 am, the faint ticking slowly bringing him back into wakefulness.
It wasn't unusual for him to wake up so late in the morning. It also wasn't unusual to wake up alone in bed, with a spot to his right clearly showing signs of someone being there overnight. David often wondered why his companion would wake much earlier than him, a habit perhaps, but as with many things, he never pushed to know the answer – instead waiting for the other to open up on his own. After a sharp inhale, he got out of bed.
Opening the bedroom door, the hallway leading to the kitchen was filled by the strong smell of cheap coffee and the sound of utensils clanking. Another thing David is slowly getting accustomed to. He almost debates heading straight to the kitchen to greet his mate, but knowing he most definitely looks worse for wear, he heads to the washroom instead. Everything’s in slow motion, way too dull, and way too colourless, but as he wakes more and more, a sort of freshness fills his mind – like opening a window, or flipping a new book's page.
Greeted by his perplexed reflection in a dusty mirror, he spots new grey hairs around his sideburns, as well as a few peeking from his bangs. He ruffles his hair to invest. At first it seemed normal, a few grey hairs in mid 30s pop up for everyone; but the vastness of his slowly raised more and more concerns. He shrugs it off, a worry for another day. Despite the lack of sunshine, his day seems to start off well, so he does not waste his good mood for concerns. Grabbing for his toothbrush settled in a cup, he notices the cluttered sink: a comb with a few long loose hairs, mouthwash that definitely is not his and a few cotton balls with makeup residue. He'll have to remind the other to clean up after himself.
In the kitchen Jack was preparing breakfast. He wasn't an amazing cook, in fact he was barely a cook to begin with, but for David, he tried. The coffee they have is from the closest shop, and the fillet he was preparing wasn't from the freshest chicken either. However, eating home prepared meals seemed more reasonable to Jack than eating the rations David has been saving up since God knows when. Jack swears some of them might be halfway eaten by roaches at this point.
Salting the fillet for the last crisp, he hears footsteps close behind. He stubbornly doesn't turn to greet the other, instead focusing not to burn their breakfast. A heartbeat or two later, he feels hands around his middle, and a face pressed between his neck and shoulder. "Morning" is all Jack says in response, with a voice full of not so familiar joy. David, with his face buried, notices that once again Jack had nicked one of his sweaters – a black turtleneck obviously covered in a cigarette smell dissociated with the current wearer – Jack's practically drowning in it, a few sizes too big. He's thankful that at least the pants aren't his. Both are wearing doubled woollen socks to battle with the cold floorboards, both wearing more clothes than usual to fight off cold breezes of the outside. Cuddled like this however, they don't need a heater for warmth. David hugs Jack’s middle, enshrouding his back like a blanket, and a small table clock states 9.41 am
Throwing a glance at what Jack was cooking, David notices the fillet seasoned with unfamiliar spices: his cabin wasn't supplied with them. The counter was also piled with other, in his opinion, unneeded ingredients and condiments. Pressing his partner closer to his chest, he whispers with a gruff: "How long have you been up?"
The question seems to freeze the other for a moment, hands stopping mid stir. Before David has time to ponder if he had struck a nerve, Jack blindly reaches back for him with his hand, coming to rest on his cheek.
Drawing out syllables with sass, he answers "Early enough to run to the store."
A chuckle.
"Figured as much" is all David settles on.
Jack finishes up by turning the stove off, urging the other to sit down with a head tilt to the side. Understanding, David lets his hands brush past the other's sides before separating. He helps to fill up the plates with the rice he noticed left on the counter, while Jack puts portions of chicken for each.
They both sit down at their respective ends of the table. To either of them, this is an all too familiar tradition – sitting down with your army mates to eat mandatory hand out meals. Let it be one or three a day; seeing someone at the other end eating the same meal after the same excruciating exercises – it's familiar, a feeling that can almost bring both back to the painful memories of the field. It doesn't though. In fact, when David looks at Jack, eating his at best mediocre meal, he feels an unfamiliar warmth filling his chest. The bleak sunlight provides a backlight, his blond hair illuminating as if it were a halo – David is mesmerised, even when Jack sloppily misses his rice spoonful.
However, he is brought back by the image to Big Shell, their first encounter. Instead of a comforting kitchen, it was a copper smell filled room, with lights buzzing above them. Raiden was going up steps to continue with his tasks, the cheap room light illuminating his hair the same way. It's then that Snake asked what his name was. He remembers being taken back by the strange codename – it still is, in fact Raiden recently tried to apply some newfound meaning to it, how it means "Lightning Bolt", to which Snake just laughed at.
"What's so funny?"
He's brought back. Jack seems to have that all known annoyed face. His memories seemed to have resurfaced and appeared on his face.
"It's nothing" he answered, a slight smirk visible. He's grateful that, unlike usual, Jack doesn't push to find out exactly what it was, instead continuing with his meal and lightly tapping David's shin with his foot under the table.
Jack had come to David by chance. After the younger man had dropped off the small girl he rescued – Olga’s daughter – at Philanthropy’s doorstep, he knew he’d have to keep his word and help The Paradise Lost army in extracting Big Boss’ remains. However, he was given a time period to rest. That’s when David had come into the picture. Travelling the world and stopping in Alaska, while walking along the road towards the northern parts of the state, a car honk startled him from behind. It was David in some shabby jeep. Jack is still sceptical of this; the timing was too perfect – he believes the other man had put a tracker on him, or at least had his eyes on him with camera footage once he left Philanthropy. David repudiates this, saying he had only come back to pick up something. Jack wasn’t really listening to what he said back then, he simply got into the offered front passenger seat of David’s jeep.
The duo don't really have a day-to-day plan here. Not having someone ordering around in their ear, explaining what to do next, is a new feeling, especially for Jack. Ever since co–founding Philanthropy, David has gotten somewhat used to the absence of commanders, instead his conversations being led by his own companions of choice. Still, neither of them know what to do with their newfound freedom. Sometimes David will go workout with Jack by his side like one of his huskies, to which David has no qualms with. He doesn’t mind helping the less–fit man, in fact, he quite enjoys teaching the other the correct posture and breathing syncs for lifting exercises. On occasion, Jack will dust off the old VHS player he found in David's junkpile and watch old movie tapes he managed to get from a bargain bin, often dragging the other into watching together. David never considered the possibility of such comfort in his own cabin. Jack would make watching movies such a warm experience: make the bed with double sheets, prepare extra pillows, bring snacks. He would go to the extent of dragging the old TV and the VHS player into the shared bedroom, just to set the mood.
Today, however, is different. The VHS player sits untouched as they're back in their bedroom, light now fully let in with the blinds tucked away. It was still cloudy outside, but at the very least brighter. A lazy mood settles, highlighted dust particles floating in the air. Apart from the ticking clock or a louder sigh, there was no other sound in the room. Quiet. The clock on the nightstand is now accompanied by a half–full bottle of whiskey. It is 1.04 pm
Huddled together on the bed, David, with pillows supporting his back and head, reads away some magazine, Jack all too knowingly waiting for the older man to get to the crosswords at the back – in his view, it's fun to interrupt with words completely out of place, trying to push his partner’s patience to its limit. He himself is resting on the other's side, head on chest, one arm and leg wrapped as if he were a koala. They're both still in the same clothes, however David now sporting a sweater. It bites at Jack's cheek with its material, but he simply ignores and huddles closer, nuzzling his face into the sweater.
He notices there's a slow, as if a drag, occurring in David's heartbeat. He presses his ear further, trying to listen in, before deciding that he's no cardiologist and just signing it off as an aftermath of cigarette abuse. David notices the fuss, looking away from his booklet and down at Jack, simply patting the others hair in return, allowing his fingers to tangle in the long strands for a second. The blond offers a glance back.
The grey light of the outside paints David in a discoloured sense, outlining the bags under his eyes, as well as lighting up his mullet and the few probing grey hairs. He hasn't shaved in a while, a messy short beard slowly taking form. Fading paint. All these details which may seem to disenchant most, brings Jack closer.
Pushing himself up, the sweater dropping sweetly around his hips, white sheets move along. Hooking his leg and fully sitting on David's lap, he rests his palms on the strong abdominal muscles, akin to a dog after receiving a command. Like this, Jack himself is brought under the grey spotlight. It doesn’t do him any favours, he’s less colourful than the man he's straddling or the room itself. However, to David, the white bleached figure is reminiscent of a saint, an angel – his sweater, although black, takes the role of a ceremonial robe in his eyes. David’s no religious man, and the comparison of Jack to a preacher almost makes him chuckle in some twisted ironic humour.
Jack slowly reaches out for the other’s face with a gentle hand, bringing the man’s attention to him. Once more holding the older man's cheek in his palm, he stops to admire his face for a moment – suspended in time for a few blinks. He takes this rare moment of intimacy to try and point out as many features of the other's face; to cherish every single detail, to engrave them into his mind. David doesn’t make a move – he waits for the other, to see how this all will pan out. In contrast, Jack feels his own heartbeat rise, young and upbeat.
With a smile, slowly, the space between them closes, Jack's hair gracefully falling from his shoulders, engulfing both of them in a curtain like privacy – and their lips meet, eyes flutter closed.
Although both of their lips are dry, they were covered in a sweet whiskey glaze– – and Jack still cannot get used to the feel of a scruffy stubble against his jaw. It's almost enough to make him pull away. Almost. However, reminding himself who the other person is, he drowns out the worries and second–hand thoughts. He gives in further, coaxing the other into an open mouth kiss. Bump–bump, bump–bump. Jack feels as alive as ever.
After a few sluggish seconds tick down, he retreats, and with a smile, David responds by putting away the magazine, his hands now resting on the younger's hips. The size of David’s palms alone is enough to ground Jack – to reassure him into intimacy.
David breaks the silence, "What was that for?"
With a slight drag of his words, Jack answers, "I don't know, felt like it?” He shuffles and makes himself more comfortable, putting his hands on the other's chest. Snickering, he continues, “With you, everything almost seems normal. A shitty mundane life almost becomes a possibility."
"What's wrong with being mundane?" David asked as he started rubbing soothing circles into Jack's thighs.
"Not for me, but you make me believe in it."
Although smiling, a certain type of sadness fills David's eyes at that. His stare is lowered and distant. Jack has an idea of why that might be, but he doesn't push. Instead, he reaches back for the older man's face, ghosting over his cheek with the back of his fingers. Jack's smile hasn't dropped for a single second.
Now cradling the face in his palm once again, their eyes meet, both squinting from smiling. Looking at David like this, Jack’s mind is now filled with prayers and promises for the other: to shower his face in kisses, to swore and protect, to die for. He wouldn’t mind going to hell and back for David; he wouldn’t mind blades piercing his chest endlessly if it meant the other would walk the earth for another day.
Raiden knows he himself will be back on the field. He will be back to get hurt, get shot at, and be tortured. But while he's out there eating lead, he just hopes not to see the other alongside. Just hopes that the legend of Solid Snake can rest – not among empty bullet shells, but the comfort of his own home. No longer would he hear the gunfire light up and the consequent bang of the barrel. Solid Snake will be lulled by the voices around him, by the people he cares of the most.
With a happy sigh, Jack slowly leans for another kiss as the other sinks further into the pillows. David brings his hand back to rest on Jack's neck, to pet his hair with the lightest of touches. In return, his face is suddenly covered in a barrage of light pecks and the sound of the other giggling in–between. Lips, nose, cheeks, and forehead – Jack left no space untouched. David recollects his dogs licking his face in a similar endearing, yet annoying way.
With light frustration building up and his brows furrowing, David flips both of them over, "Come here!" he exclaimed with a smile, starting to kiss the other's neck in revenge as the now pinned man kicked his feet in a rupture of laughter.
And time slows. Jack, for once, feels genuine happiness. He pushes away the intrusive thoughts that this is all just alcohol doing its thing. Instead, he likes to believe that it's because of David. The man gave him purpose on the field– he may give him purpose in the “real” world as well. As he playfully tries to push the other away, he notices how joyful David is too: he’s a bit more relaxed, a bit more energetic and his eyes close a bit more from all the smiling.
As they wrestled on the bed, the clock’s stirring gears released notes falling on deaf ears.