Archive of Our Own

Okay, so maybe Hal hadn't thought this all the way through.

Sure, he worked out the design and the schematics of Snake's new sneaking suit, since the one he was wearing during the shitshow at Shadow Moses was busted up beyond repair. And frankly, Hal knew he could do better, streamline the core elements of the sneaking suit to make it more adaptable to Snake’s body when he's on missions. 

But he definitely didn't anticipate this. 

First of all, Snake is…really hairy. And that shouldn't surprise Hal, considering he's practically the Male Ideal Super Soldier™, but seeing it up close and personal is something else entirely. The hairiness isn't a problem, per say, but it makes getting into the sneaking suit a lot more cumbersome due to the clinginess of the fabric. So he suggests that Snake shave. And Snake had rolled his eyes, grumbled under his breath, but did it anyways. 

Except for his chest. Specifically, the middle of his pectorals. 

The safe house that Mei Ling arranged for them is definitely not the nicest place they've stayed in a while, but beggars can't be choosy and all that. It's a definite downgrade all around, especially since their bathroom doesn't even have a mirror. Which wouldn't be a problem in general, but it presents a problem when Snake needs to shave his chest and can't really see what he's doing without a mirror. 

So that task falls to Hal. 

Snake had asked, as nonchalantly as if he was asking about the weather, if he also needed to shave his balls and Hal had almost choked on his redbull. No , he had replied, trying to dislodge that image from head. That particular area would be fine if left alone, Snake!  

So here Hal was, standing in the cramped bathroom with Snake, who just has a towel wrapped around his waist, holding a bic razor in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. 

This is fine, Hal repeats to himself running the bar of soap under warm water in the porcelain sink to lather it up, momentarily putting down the razor. Sure, this isn't exactly a thing most guys do together but neither is trying to take down metal gears. 

He lathers the soap on both hands and, keeping his eyes downcast, starts rubbing the wet soap onto Snake's chest. 

Do not , Hal tells himself sternly, pop a boner .

Taking a shaky breath in, Hal runs his hands over the expanse of Snake's chest, trying not to linger any more than strictly necessary, but god, this is nothing like Hal has ever experienced. The wet slide of the soap, the damp, soft hairs, the texture of Snake's skin. He coughs into his elbow and turns away to wash and dry his hands, and picks up the razor. When he turns to face Snake again, their eyes lock. 

Snake is staring at him, the intensity of it almost knocks Hal backwards. But Snake has always had an intense, slightly unnerving gaze, so Hal shakes it off, shakes off the idea that Snake could be as affected as Hal is in this moment ( wouldn't that be nice , Hal can't help but think to himself).

He smiles at Snake, trying to seem casual. “Are you ready?’ 

Snake hums under his breath and nods. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“I'll go slow,” Hal assures him. “I promise I won't nick you or anything.”

“It's fine, Otacon. “Snake replied gruffly. “That type of razor can't really do any lasting damage anyways.”

Hal's about to ask Snake how do you know that, exactly but any form of rational thought gets sucked out of his brain as he slowly drags the razor downwards. 

A couple strokes of the razor, and then Hal rinses off the razor in the sink. He repeats these motions, one hand braced on Snake's shoulder. He's trying not to think about the feel of Snake's muscles, the subtle shifts underneath Snake's skin; definitely trying not to think about how much Snake radiates warmth.

Neither of them speak. Hal would usually, in a different circumstance, talk to fill the silence. But he doesn't trust himself to speak. So he doesn't. 

Snake's never been one for small talk either, and if Hal was a betting man, he imagines that Snake is relieved that Hal isn't babbling about Hideaki Anno being a military Otaku or something. 

It probably takes ten of the most excruciating minutes of Hal's life to shave off the hair on Snake's chest, but it's finally done. He clears his throat and busies himself with rinsing off the razor before tossing it in the trash.

“Uh,” Hal's voice cracks slightly and he pauses. “ The sneaking suit is laid out on the kitchen table, if you want to inspect it. Before you have to put it on, I mean.” 

Snake grunts in response and exits the bathroom. When Hal is certain he's out of hearing range, he rests his head against the cold porcelain, lightly banging his forehead a couple times.

This all started when they had been narrowing down a few leads and Hal had been able to uncover some potential metal gear schematics when he was hacking through a few different weapon manufacturers' back door systems. The only thing Hal couldn't determine was if they were already in production or not, there was only so much he could find online, through his hacking programs. So then it became an infiltration and reconnaissance mission, Snake's specialty. But he needed upgraded gear. And now Hal was on the verge of a panic attack in a bathroom with no fucking mirror.

“Great job, Emmerich. Just terrific critical thinking skills, you fucking moron.” He mutters to himself before taking a couple deep breaths to steady himself, and to try to calm himself down. 

He pulls himself together and heads into the kitchen. And then he almost turns right around to leave. 

Because Snake is standing in the kitchen, his back turned to Hal, his towel nowhere to be found, his ass on full display. 

God, it's a really nice ass too. 

Snake doesn't turn around (thank god, Hal thinks to himself in a near panic), seemingly absorbed in inspecting the new sneaking suit.

Hal tries to back out slowly, regroup, because how is he supposed to react to this? Hide in the bathroom until Snake finally calls for him? Try to ignore the insistent sensation already growing in his pants?

Of course, he has no such luck - just as he steps back, Snake turns, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh. Hey.” An eyebrow is quirked, as he picks up the suit in both hands, “It’s uh. Kinda thin, eh?” He looks skeptical at the thought that this suit is any better than his previous one. 

“Ah” Hal's mouth opens, closes like a stupid fish. And then he clears his throat, doing his best to not look down, “Yes, kind of, but that’s the function of the fabric.”

“Still. You sure it’s gonna hold up?” Snake turns fully, leaning (bare ass) against the table, his legs crossed, as if they’re having the most casual conversation and he’s not stark naked.

(Hal nearly chokes as he looks down and sees Snake’s freshly shaved balls. I told him he didn’t HAVE to do that! Hal thinks loudly to himself).

Instead, Hal lets the professional cosplayer in him take over. He nods, striding over and taking the suit in hand.

“It’ll hold.” He says with fake confidence, “Pretty similar to your last suit - but the neoprene fabric was way too thick and cumbersome to really get into those tight spots. So - kevlar lined lycra it is.” 

Hal hands it back, “It’s not the most breathable, I’ll admit, and it was a bitch getting all that fabric to cooperate - but it’s strong and it’s flexible. It’ll hold.”

Snake takes it back. Nods his head, his typical scowl turned into a more…impressed scowl.

“Did all this yourself, huh?” There’s a ghost of a smile on Snake's face, blink and you'll miss it. It’s the most Hal’s going to get.

“I didn’t buy it at Macy’s.” 

Snake snorts. “Yeah. Don’t think it would sell well to that crowd. But it looks good.” He nods, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Hal says, in what he hopes is a causal manner, and not in one that suggests that his blood pressure is rapidly rising. 

“I picked up the lubricant you requested,” Snake continues, “ for getting me into this thing. Took a while to find a non-water based one.” He gestures at the table, past the sneaking suit. 

To the economy sized bottle of KY Lube. 

Hal swallows. He blinks. 

“Are we going to have to do this every time I have to get into this thing?” Snake asks, seemingly oblivious. “Seems like a lot of extra work. Didn't have to do this for the last suit.” 

Hal huffs an annoyed breath. “Yeah and that suit is beyond repair!” He grabs the bottle of lube and uncaps it, maybe a little too aggressively. “Unbelievable, the lack of gratitude.” He mutters under his breath, and Snake chuckles in response. 

Hal squirts a healthy amount of lube onto his hand, and the loud squelching sound seems to echo off the walls of the kitchen, bringing Hal back to the immediate present of him having to lube up his naked partner. In a completely professional manner too. Just business. 

After a moment's hesitation, Hal starts rubbing the lube onto Snake's shoulders. He feels the muscles tighten a bit, tensing as Hal's hands skim across. 

He gets into a rhythm, trying to distance what he's currently doing, almost like he's watching himself do it, that it's happening to someone else. That's the only way he can complete his task without falling over. Especially as his hands make their way further down. 

There's a moment of hesitation as Hal stares at Snake's ass. He can feel the blood rushing from his head. 

“Everything okay back there?” 

Hal blinks. How long have I been standing here, staring?

“Sorry, sorry!” Hal replies, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath, putting both hands on Snake's ass. 

Oh my god, I'm touching his ass. 

Forcing himself to move his hands, Hal rubs the lube onto Snake's cheeks, inwardly marveling at how soft and bouncy this particular part of his body is. 

Hal's breathing is starting to sound shallow, like his on the verge of a panic attack. He forces himself to remove his hands. 

“Just, uh, the legs to go!” He says, trying to ignore the slightly shrill tone his voice has suddenly adopted. He slides the bottle of lube across the table so it stops in front of Snake.

“You can, um, start on your front, if you want?” Hal suggests as he crouches to get the back of Snake's thighs, trying to ignore that he is now currently at eye-level with Snake's ass. 

He covers the wide expanse of Snake's thighs ( how many people has he killed with these things, Hal wonders to himself, faintly), and when he reaches Snake's left knee, he adjust it slightly, resulting in Hal accidentally popping the joint, causing Snake to jolt forward a bit, a low groan escaping the back of his throat, almost a growl. 

“Oh jeez!” Hal says, alarmed, backing off. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No.” Snake's voice seems lower, harsher. “My knee was bugging me earlier today, that felt good.” 

“Oh! Okay, good.”  Hal stands up and tries not to stare too long at Snake's glistening backside. “Is your front almost done?” 

Snake nods, turning his head to the side. “Just about.” He makes a face. “I feel like the inside of a condom.” 

Oh, gross.” Hal makes a face back at Snake as he washes his hands at the sink. “Next time, keep that thought to yourself.” 

There's silence, save for the running water, almost as loud as Hal's thoughts racing around his head. 

“Okay, what's next?” Snake asks as Hal shuts the tap off. “Gonna need your help getting this on, I think.” 

For a moment, Hal curses the fact that he went with a clingy fabric for the sneaking suit. He takes a deep breath in, to calm his nerves (and other parts of his body) and turns around. Without lingering too long on Snake's entire body, shiny and sticky, he picks up the sneaking suit from the kitchen table and unzips the back. He passes it to Snake's waiting hands, keeping his eyes firmly above Snake's neckline. 

“Alright, shimmy on in.” Hal says. “Legs first “ 

Snake gives him a flat look that clearly says No kidding , Hal turns around to give Snake some privacy, never mind that he's already seen everything. It's just the principal of the thing, he doesn't want to be creepy. 

Behind him, Snake grunts as he pulls the suit over his legs, shifting from one foot to the other, Hal resolutely staring at the fridge. 

“Otacon,” Snake says, snapping Hal back to the present. “Gonna need a hand here.” 

“Sure, okay.” Hal turns around, “what do you ne--” 

Snake's got the sneaking suit up over his legs, all right, the fabric pulled taut over his muscles. But the sneaking suit stops halfway over his ass. 

There's a extremely long and uncomfortable silence as Hal takes another deep breath in, and replies, “Sure,” just as Snake twists his torso around to look at him, saying in a curt tone, “Listen, if you don't want to help---”

“Hold still,” Hal orders, grabbing the bulk of the suit where it's bunched up and gives it a firm yank upwards, the fabric sliding up over the remainder of Snake's ass 

Hal can hear Snake's throat click as he swallows. 

“Get your arms up,” Hal continues, pulling the suit further up, his hands getting coated in residual lube as he works. 

The suit is like a second skin on Snake. Hal can't help but mentally pat himself on the back; he really did a good job with this. However, it also means that this suit does not hide anything. Everything is on display. 

As he smooths out the fabric to adhere to Snake's body, Hal can't help but take in the wide expanse of Snake's back, the raised and knotted scar tissue, some faded and some more recent. The scattering of small marks down his spine, freckles or mole, Hal can't quite tell. A swirl of constellations on the galaxy of Snake. 

All Hal wants to do is touch him. Not like how he's touching him now, all business, trying to get the sneaking suit to cooperate, but really touch Snake. Run his hands down the flank of Snake's body. The urge is so visceral that Hal has to take a moment and step back. 

He doesn't understand why he's been thinking about Snake in this way. If he's honest, it's not the first time the thought of touching Snake, in a decidedly more intimate manner, has crossed Hal's mind. He's dismissed these thoughts before, chalking it up to all the time they spent together, how circumstances and their way of life has forced them both into this weird sense of domesticity when they're not running Philanthropy ops. 

He's always been so sure of his sexuality; that he likes women, full stop. But he also likes Snake. And he doesn't know what to do about it.

 “Otacon.” 

“Hm?” Hal shakes his head, dismissing his reverie. 

“I can't quite reach the zipper.” Snake mutters, his voice low, like he's trying not to spook Hal. 

Without a second thought, like it's second nature to him to help out his friend (which is it, don't get him wrong), Hal reaches down and pulls the zipper up the length of Snake's ass, his back, stopping at the base of his neck.

“There you go.” Hal says softly. “ All zipped up.”

Snake turns around to face him, and Hal finally gets a good look at how the suit looks on Snake from the front.  It is…a lot to take in. 

“How does the suit feel?” Hal hears himself asking. “Does the inside feel okay? Nothing rubbing you the wrong way or anything?”

Snake gives Hal one of his inscrutable stares before he answers with a curt, “Feels fine.” 

Hal rolls his eyes. “Move around a little, I want to make sure you can move in it beforehand.” 

Snake walks around the kitchen stretching his legs and arms out in front of him as he walks, Hal's eyes following his every movement. The suit definitely clings to every part of Snake's body, that's for sure, but Hal is pleased with how it moves with Snake; his movement doesn't seem stiff or restricted in any capacity, and that's what matters the most. 

The rest of the sneaking suit is just the regular accouterments that Snake uses on his missions; his, for lack of a better term, utility belt (“Don't call me Batman,” Snake had said when Hal referred to it as such), straps for his weapons, and the new addition of his tactical vest. Which is another thing Hal came up with. 

“Tactical vest, huh?” Snake hums while Hal cinches it up in the back. “I dunno, Otacon. This kind of feels like you're lacing up my corset.” He turns his head sideways to try to look at Hal. “Are you trying to give me an hourglass figure or what?”

Hal pauses for a minute, glaring at the back of Snake's head. Then, probably with a little more force than necessary, pulls on the lacing. 

Snake makes a choking sound at the back of his throat. He turns his head to look at Hal out of the corner of his eye, and Hal returns the stare. It feels awkward, like there's an invisible line that's waiting to be crossed by one of them, but neither of them are about to go first. 

Snake breaks the silence first, grounding out a gruff “what’s my entry point?” while adjusting the straps on his thighs.

Hal blinks, his brain stuttering for a moment. “ Oh. Uh. The entry point is-“

They fall into their familiar routine as they hash out the details of the mission, Snake arguing with Hal about the best place for him to infiltrate, but ultimately bowing to Hal's judgment, with minimal grumbling. 

Hal hums under his breath and shoves the factory building layout maps back into their folder. “There, we're all set.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and continues, “I gotta grab my laptop and then we can head out.” 

“Yes, sir.” Snake replies playfully, and Hal tries to swat him on his shoulder, but Snake effortlessly dodges him. 

~

It's a long car ride back to the safe house. 

The mission has gone off without a hitch, one of their smoother ops, all things considered. Hal had provided comms and Intel from the front seat of their Honda, parked behind an abandoned gas station. 

Snake is pretty efficient most of the time, but this mission was almost like he had an appointment to keep afterwards, he was in and out so fast. 

They had their debrief in the first ten minutes of the ride back; Snake had been able to procure the metal gear schematics and photographic evidence that Hal could use in exposing what this particular manufacturer was up to. Snake’s job was done, when they got back to the safe house, Hal had a long night ahead of him.

Snake is chain smoking in the passenger seat, ignoring the annoyed huffs from Hal's direction, the pointed rolling down of the windows. He's more taciturn than usual, answering “yes”, “no” or just an annoyed grunt to Hal's questions. 

Hal knows he should just stop talking, but he seems incapable of turning it off. 

“How did the suit feel?” Hal asks, clearing his throat a little. “During the mission, I mean.” 

“Felt fine.” 

Hal rolls his eyes. “Great, thank you for that invaluable piece of feedback.” 

“I don't know what you want me to say, Otacon.” Snake replies, opening his cigarette pack. 

“Never mind,” Hal grumbles under his breath, taking a swig of his near empty can of red bull. 

The rest of the drive is in silence. When Hal pulls into the driveway, Snake barely waits for the car to be fully parked before opening his door and launching himself out. 

“Jesus, Snake!” Hal says in alarm. “Where's the fire?” 

“I need to get this suit off.” Snake says over his shoulder as Hal follows hurriedly behind. He waits impatiently for Hal to find the house key and unlock the door.

“What's wrong? Is something too tight? I can make adjustments--” 

“Otacon.” Snake's voice stops Hal mid-sentence. “ The suit is fine . In case you forgot , I'm covered in dried lube underneath it. I need a shower.” 

“ Oh.”

“Yeah, oh .” Snake grumbles, pulling off his gloves and putting them on the kitchen table. He bends over to untie his boots. “There has to be a better way to get me into this thing.” 

“I mean, I can do more research---” 

Snake grunts in response, his hands reaching behind himself, tugging himself free of his tactical vest. The utility belt goes next. Hal just stands next to the kitchen table, transfixed at what could be described as the most annoyed striptease in the history of the world.

( Except it isn't really a striptease, not really. In your dream, Emmerich ). 

“Can you help me unzip?” Snake's question jolts Hal back to reality. 

“Yeah, of course.” Hal reaches for the zipper at the base of Snake's neck and tugs down, in the middle of the wide expanse of his back, his slim waist, finally stopping at the small of Snake's back. 

“Okay, good to go!” Hal's voice sounds weird to his own ears, too cheerful. 

Snake nods his thanks, pulling his arms out. 

“How are you going to clean this thing?” Snake asks, bemused, peering at the dried lube sticking to the inside of the sneaking suit. 

Hal sighs, “I don't know, let me worry about that. Worse comes to worse, I can just hose it down or something.” 

“Hnrgh. Elegant solutions for modern day problems.”

“Go have your shower!” Hal says, smacking Snake on the shoulder. 

~

While Snake is in the shower, Hal sets up his work station at the kitchen table. He brings out an extra monitor to hook up to his laptop, and for a moment, misses when he had an actual desktop computer to work off of. But lugging that kind of equipment around would be a huge pain in the ass, considering how much he and Snake have to keep moving. 

Maybe one day, when we settle down… Hal thinks to himself wistfully. 

Wait, we? Hal blinks. Okay well. Don't have time to unpack that right now. He starts untangling some cords just to do something with his hands. 

By the time Snake reemerges from the bathroom, towel snug around his waist, Hal has hooked up his workstation to his specifications, and is currently pouring over the documents and photographs from earlier. 

“Otacon?” 

“Hm?” Hal has a hard time pulling his eyes away from the monitors. 

“I'm gonna…turn in.” Snake scratches the back of his head, stray water droplets run down his neck. 

“Already?” Hal turns to look at the clock. It's already after midnight. “Oh! Yeah, I guess you're probably tired.” 

Snake stares at Otacon for a few minutes before replying, “‘Night.” He goes into the next room and closes the door. 

Hal looks at that closed door for a few minutes before giving his head a shake and trying to return his focus back to the task at hand. 

It doesn't work. 

Hal's mind is a million miles away from metal gear schematics; now that he's actually sitting down by himself, his mind keeps wandering back to earlier in the day, his hands on Snake's body, feeling his skin, the scars and imperfections. How he wondered what would have happened if he had pressed a kiss to the back of Snake's neck, right below where his hair stopped. Would Snake like that? Would he have turned around and pressed his naked, slicked up body against Hal's? Would Snake let Hal kiss him? Or would he take the lead and kiss Hal? Both possibilities were fine with Hal.

Hal belatedly realizes that, while he is sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space, he's been palming himself through his jeans. And now he's as hard as a rock. 

Good grief, He scolds himself. He gets up from the table, pointedly ignoring the strain in his pants, opens the fridge door and peers inside to see if there's any red bull left. Grabbing the last one (and making a mental note to buy more on the next grocery run), he closes the fridge door and leans against the counter, taking a gulp from his drink. He looks down and sighs, his pants still tight around the front. He's going to have to deal with it in a minute.

The safe house only has one bedroom and Hal insisted that Snake should be the one to have it, that he does the most physically taxing job of the two of them, after all. Hal doesn't mind sleeping in the living room on the beat up, plaid couch (a horrible relic from the seventies, no doubt). But Hal doesn't really want to jerk off in such a public area ( unless you want Snake to walk in on you doing it, Hal's mind helpfully supplies before Hal swats the thought away), so the shower is probably his best bet. 

He finishes up his drink, belches softly and puts the empty can on the counter. He makes his way to the bathroom, when a low grunt from inside Snake's room stops him in his tracks. There's silence and Hal is about to move when there's another grunt. The bed springs squeak with movement before falling silent.

He must be moving in his sleep, Hal tells himself, not sure if he's feeling relief or disappointment. 

There's a wet sound, something Hal can't place immediately. The sound of it is steady, almost hypnotic. Almost sounds like…

No. Hal's cheeks heat up as realization hits. There's no way Snake is jerking off right now. Right?

It's not outside the realm of possibility, though. After missions, Snake is always keyed up on adrenaline, especially if the mission went well. He'd take a long shower and then go for a run, and Hal never thought twice about it. Kind of an unspoken agreement between guys living together; “we're both going to jerk off, pretend you don't know.” It's a rule he followed in college, and when he was bunking on Shadow Moses Island in Alaska. 

But all that doesn't matter right now, because Snake is still in his room and Hal can hear everything going on in there.

I shouldn't be doing this, Hal tells himself, even though he is pressing himself against the wall next to Snake's door. This is a huge invasion of Snake's privacy if he's doing what I think he's doing. Who knows, maybe he just grunts in his sleep? 

“Fuck…” Snake grounds out, and if Hal leans his head forward some more towards the door, that's nobody's business but his own. There's a faint sound of rustling, wet squelching. Snake must be using lube or something. 

Good gravy, Hal swallows deeply, his own hand making its way to the button of his jeans. In for a penny, in for a pound. He slowly unzips his pants, and eases his hand inside his boxers, smearing some of the precome already gathering on the tip of his dick onto his hard length. He lets out a shallow breath and starts to slowly move his hand. 

For someone so stealthy, Snake sure is making a lot of noise. How did Hal never hear this before? Hal's imagination runs wild with flashes of images; Snake laying in bed, his feet planted on the mattress, fucking into his fist, sweat dotting his forehead, his bangs sticking to him. 

Or maybe Snake's folded a pillow in half and is fucking into the soft crevice? Hal's no stranger to that one. His own fist speeds up, imaging Snake's ass cheeks clenching with each thrust. 

Hal's other hand is over his mouth and good thing too, because he lets out a whimper, thinking of Snake, not even five feet away from him, jerking off. His stomach tightens with heat and desire, not caring about the mess he's making all over himself. 

Hal can barely make out the words Snake's muttering between his grunts and panting; he thinks he might be hearing a please and more interspersed alongside Snake's noises. Snake sounds desperate, absolutely debauched. Hal has never heard him sound like this before. His face is heating up. He feels hot, a little dizzy, he is so aroused as he hears Snake’s grunts and groans. Hal can hear Snake’s breathing, it sounds like he’s run a hundred miles in the desert, and it makes Hal stroke himself faster, twisting his wrists as he hears Snake whine, actually whine , like he wants to cum, like he’s getting so close to the edge.

Hal’s pressed himself against the door at this point, he doesn’t even notice that he moved from his spot against the wall, can barely feel the shitty texture of the fake wood against his overheated skin; all he can think about is Snake on top of him, of how his ass would dimple as Hal pulled him down on his cock repeatedly. 

Hal wishes he was in the room with Snake. Wishes that it was him drawing these noises out of Snake's mouth. 

“Yeah---,” Snake breathes out, his growl reverberating all the way down Hal’s spine. “Fuck… Otacon.”

Hal almost falls over. He must have misheard. There’s no way Snake just outright moaned his name like that. 

Snake grunts again, a keening sound from the back of his throat, another growl of “ Otacon” reaching Hal's ears. 

Hal bites down on his lip, trying to tamper his own noises down, but he doesn't care, he teeters close to the edge himself. Snake makes another noise, like he’s moving a heavy object or something, and that sound is all it takes before Hal is coming, harder than he’s ever come in his life.

Unfortunately for him, the blissful afterglow is cut short because Hal immediately notices that he jizzed all over the floor outside of Snake’s bedroom door. 

“ Shit!” Hal hisses through clenched teeth, hurriedly tucking himself back into his boxers, zipping up his jeans. He looks around in a panic for something to clean up the evidence.

“Otacon?” Snake’s voice from the inside of his bedroom makes Hal freeze in place. “Is that you?” A pause. “Everything okay?” 

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Uh! Yeah, everything’s fine! I just spilled my, um, red bull. Go back to sleep!”

“...’kay. If you’re sure?” Snake’s mattress squeaks as he moves on the bed, likely getting up.

“Yeah! Get some sleep!” Please, god, do not come out here.

No answer from Snake, but he doesn’t come out of the bedroom, thank goodness. Hal runs into the kitchen and rummages in one of the drawers before he finds a washcloth. He dashes back to the mess he made on the floor, and quickly wipes it up. Geez Louise, there’s so much of it.

Floor more or less back to normal, Hal runs the washcloth under the kitchen tap, looks at it, and decides to just chuck it in the garbage. It’s better this way.

There’s no way he’s getting any more work done tonight, that much is for certain. Sighing, he turns off his laptop and monitor and flicks the kitchen lights off. He makes his way to the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to get some sleep. And pretend that what just happened, didn’t.  

~

The next morning

It's about 10:30am before Otacon rouses himself from the living room couch. Which, Snake supposes, is pretty early for him considering Otacon doesn't keep a regular or consistent sleeping schedule. If he even sleeps at all. 

He can hear the sounds of Otacon getting up, making a nnnnngh sound of dissatisfaction as he gets to his feet. Snake turns on the coffee machine, loud gurgling filling the air in the kitchen. 

Otacon walks in and stops short when he sees Snake leaning against the counter in his sweats, drinking some water. His eyes grow comically wide and he clears his throat, averting his eyes.

Snake sees the faint pink blush scatter across Otacon's cheeks and he feels an intense urge to press his lips against them, to feel the heat against Otacon's skin. 

He doesn't move.

Otacon coughs and makes a beeline for the fridge. He stares inside of it, like he's frozen in place. Snake can't think of what he could be looking for, there's hardly anything in there; they really need to go for a grocery run. 

A few more minutes pass, and Otacon still hasn't moved. Snake sighs. 

“Otacon.”

No response. 

“Otacon.”

Still nothing. 

“ Hal.” Snake tries to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice. 

“What?” Otacon jumps at the sound of Snake's voice. “What?” 

“The milk.” Snake gestures at the fridge. 

Otacon looks at Snake like he doesn't understand the words coming out of his mouth. “The what?” 

It takes a substantial effort not to roll his eyes right now. “Can you pass me the milk?” Snake says it slowly, deliberately.

“The wha- oh. oh, the milk!” Otacon lets out a nervous giggle and reaches into the fridge to grab the carton. He passes it to Snake. Their fingers brush against each other. Otacon almost drops the carton on the ground. “Uh. There you go.” 

“Thanks.” 

This, Snake thinks to himself as he pours milk into his coffee cup. is unbearable.

Otacon closes the fridge door ( finally) and goes to the right of Snake, rummaging into the cupboards. He's still not fully looking at Snake in the eye, acting like a spooked animal. 

The silence is deafening; sure, Snake himself doesn't talk much but he always finds it comforting whenever Otacon talks about whatever he feels like at whatever particular time. Otacon's smart and interesting; Snake could listen to him talk about anything. 

Otacon lets out another weird laugh, borderline shrill this time, ducking his head out of the cupboard, waving a box in his hand. 

“Want a pop tart?”

“…sure.” Snake absolutely does not want a pop tart but he'd eat cement at this point. 

“There’s uh…..yeah, there’s no more redbull.” Otacon says as he puts two strawberry pop tarts into the toaster, pressing the lever down.

“You sure? You were staring at it long enough, I thought you were trying to will some into existence”

“Oh haha.” Otacon rolls his eyes. “No one ever gives you credit about how hilarious you are, you know that?” 

Snake shrugs and grabs another mug out of the cupboard. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure!” Otacon finally looks at him and smiles. It feels like the sun on Snake’s face. 

Snake busies himself pouring coffee for Otacon, adding the usual splash of milk and three sugars to the mug. The toaster pops up their breakfast and Otacon plunks the pop tarts onto two plates and brings them to the table, smiling in thanks as Snake hands him his mug.

Otacon turns on his laptop as he sits down and Snake knows he doesn’t have a lot of time to bring up what happened last night before he loses Otacon’s attention entirely.

“So, um.” He clears his throat. “Can we talk?” 

Otacon bites into his pop tart, a smear of icing and strawberry jam covering his upper lip. He tries to lick most of it off. “Hm--- what about?” 

“About last night.” 

Otacon swallows, takes another bite. “You mean, the mission? Yeah, we can debrief.” He types something on his laptop. “ I did a cursory look over the documents last night but I didn't really go in depth.” 

Snake fights the urge to scowl. “No, that's not what I meant.” 

Otacon raises an eyebrow. “Then what are you talking about?” He takes a sip of coffee. “Oh! The sneaking suit. Now that you're out of it, you can give me some real feedback.” 

Inhaling deeply, Snake shakes his head. “No, that's not what I meant either--”

“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about there needs to be an easier way to get you into it,” Otacon breezes past him. “And you're right, water based lubricant isn't going to cut it in the long run, and eventually it'll wear out the fabric if I need to pressure wash it after every mission.” He taps his fingers against his coffee mug, thinking. “ Maybe we could use something like baby powder? I'll have to look into it more.” He gives Snake a nervous smile and turns back to his laptop. 

This is going to be harder than I thought, Snake thinks to himself, pushing his stray bangs off of his forehead. It's not like Snake wanted to bring this up, it was embarrassing for him too, but what was the alternative, pretending it never happened? Staying in this stupid fucking limbo forever? 

“Otacon, come on. You know what I'm talking about.” 

Otacon's eyes barely tear themselves away from the laptop, flitting over to Snake briefly before going back to the screen. 

“I really don't have a clue, Snake.” Otacon says in a huff, but Snake doesn't miss the pink that colors his cheeks. Otacon isn't that great at hiding his reactions from anyone, least of all Snake. “So if you're done messing around, I'd like to get some work done.” 

Unbelievable. 

Snake rubs between his eyebrows in frustration; Otacon is being deliberately obtuse for some reason, they both know what happened last night. They've been doing this stupid dance around each other for the better part of a year already, and Snake is tired of it. He wants Otacon, and he's fairly sure that Otacon wants him too. Snake doesn't miss how Otacon looks at him, how he looked at him yesterday when he helped Snake put on the sneaking suit. They both want this, so what the fuck is Otacon's problem. 

Snake doesn't know what to do. He wished, not for the first time, that Master Miller was still around and that Snake could call him up for advice. Master Miller knew about survival, sure, but he was also an expert on people in general. 

This isn't Snake's first rodeo, he's comfortable with who he is (for the most part) and he's never really questioned the fact that he finds both men and women attractive. It's not exactly something he advertised, especially when he was in the Green Berets or Foxhound, but he can look back on the trysts he had back then with no regrets. A lot of it was stress relief or trying to relieve boredom during downtime, but there was one or two that had meant more to him than most. 

(“ Come on, rookie.” Fox's smile is more like an animal baring its teeth at its prey. “What are you waiting for, an invite to prom?”) 

“I'm going for a run,” Snake says, standing up, his pop tart untouched. He needs to get out of here, clear his head. “By the way, the floor is still a little sticky from where you spilled your red bull last night. Might wanna try wiping it down again.” 

Otacon,  in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee, misses his mouth by a mile, slopping the brown liquid onto his t-shirt. He looks at Snake in horror, his eyes wide like saucers behind his glasses. Snake takes a decidedly immature pleasure in Otacon's reaction. It's petty, so sue him. 

Snake doesn't wait for him to respond, going to the front to put on his running shoes. It's hot enough this morning that he doesn't bother putting a shirt on; what's the point of getting a shirt sweaty, after all. 

“Snake--”

“Let's go over the Intel when I get back, alright?” Snake says a little harsher than intended, cutting Otacon off. Otacon shrinks a little into himself but nods. A pang of remorse shoots through Snake, already regretting bringing anything up. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Should have kept pretending that everything's normal and that neither of them jerked off last night thinking of the other. 

“Sure, I'll do a preliminary look through and we can…talk about our next steps.” 

Snake grunts, “Sounds good.” He opens the front door and leaves, closing the door behind him. He takes a deep breath of the humid morning air, and starts his run. 

Maybe it would have been easier to stay in Alaska, He thinks to himself as he gets further away from the safe house. But his stomach clenches in knots at the thought of not being with Otacon. He huffs, pushing himself to run harder. 

Being with Otacon is preferable than being without him, Snake knows this at his core. He can't imagine going back to how his life was, the loneliness. 

He pushes the thoughts out of his head as he continues to run. He doesn't want to think about this anymore. 

So he doesn't. He just runs instead.