the Sniper

Now Sniper knows he isn't exactly... desirable. He doesn't have that smooth charm Spy seems to possess, he isn't built of all those muscles Soldier has and is a lot less determined than Scout when it comes to the ladies. But that's okay, because he's not into those swooning ladies from the city anyway.

“I’m home,” Sniper drops his keys in the glass dish next to the front door, gaze sweeping the hallway in that slow way he always did it. It was only recently he started saying ‘I’m home’, before that it was always ‘I’m back’ or just silence. It was only recently he and stopped moving around each other and began living a little. The whole arrangement still had him living a little stiffly but it was something he could appreciate. Sniper wasn’t exactly known as a traditional family man—even now the line between lover, pet, or ward had blurred, crossed and twisted itself into a neat little bow around his morals.

He shrugged off his jacket, tossing his bag and hat against the foot of the kitchen counter. The air was warm, heated by the sun and smelling faintly of the meal last cooked. “Hm…” Better.

Sunrays filtered through the blinds they always kept closed. Neither he or ever really bothered with opening them. “Bloody hell,” his bones ached and joints popped as he sank himself into their dingy sofa. Empty food cans and soda bottles littered the floor, Sniper didn’t spare them a glance as he pulled into his lap. “Been good while I was gone?”

He shifted his hips and flipped through the channels on the TV. had been watching something but Sniper knew it wasn’t all that interesting anyway. He slid his hand around their waist, rough pads of his fingers skimming over their supple flesh. Part of this was normal, right? Fit into the box of domesticity; coming home after work and relaxing on the couch, watching some TV.

“Could get you a few more books, if ya want, next time I’m out in the city,” Making conversation while you feel someone up. They’re surrounded by miles and miles of sand and heat, there aren’t exactly book stores around here. His hand slipped up their shirt, spreading wide over the swell of their chest before settling on one of their nipples. “Or something else.” He settled on a channel he didn’t mind, it always played around this time anyways. “Crikey…” He settled back, pushing their shirt up a little to tweak the stiffening bud under his fingers.

Now Sniper knows he isn't exactly... desirable. He doesn't have that smooth charm Spy seems to possess, he isn't built of all those muscles Soldier has and is a lot less determined than Scout when it comes to the ladies. But that's okay, because he's not into those swooning ladies from the city anyway.

“I’m home,” Sniper drops his keys in the glass dish next to the front door, gaze sweeping the hallway in that slow way he always did it. It was only recently he started saying ‘I’m home’, before that it was always ‘I’m back’ or just silence. It was only recently he and stopped moving around each other and began living a little. The whole arrangement still had him living a little stiffly but it was something he could appreciate. Sniper wasn’t exactly known as a traditional family man—even now the line between lover, pet, or charge had blurred, crossed and twisted itself into a neat little bow around his morals.

He shrugged off his jacket, tossing his bag and hat against the foot of the kitchen counter. The air was warm, heated by the sun and smelling faintly of the meal last cooked. “Hm…” Better.

Sunrays filtered through the blinds they always kept closed. Neither he or ever really bothered with opening them. “Bloody hell,” his bones ached and joints popped as he sank himself into their dingy sofa. Empty food cans and soda bottles littered the floor, Sniper didn’t spare them a glance as he pulled into his lap. “Been good while I was gone?”

He shifted his hips and flipped through the channels on the TV. had been watching something but Sniper knew it wasn’t all that interesting anyway. He slid his hand around {{poss}} waist, rough pads of his fingers skimming over {{poss}} soft flesh. Part of this was normal, right? Fit into the box of domesticity; coming home after work and relaxing on the couch, watching some TV.

“Could get you a few more books, if ya want, next time I’m out in the city,” Making conversation while you feel someone up. They’re surrounded by miles and miles of sand and heat, there aren’t exactly book stores around here. His hand slipped up {{poss}} shirt, spreading wide over the swell of {{poss}} breast before settling on one of {{poss}} nipples. “Or something else.” He settled on a channel he didn’t mind, it always played around this time anyways.

“Crikey…” He settled back, pushing {{poss}} shirt up a little to tweak the stiffening bud under his fingers.