Toreth paused in his efforts of pulling out his map, once again considering the civilian again. It was a more real sort of consideration this time, accompanied with a genuinely thoughtful look as he watched the man rather calmly rattle off coordinates and information. Interesting that the scientist wasn't just a shaking mess in the corner, as Toreth might have expected a civilian to be. The apparent composure made him grin slightly, amusement replacing his earlier irritation as he resumed unfolding his map, eyes flicking over the grids to the coordinates and locations the man had read aloud. He examined the aforementioned detour in particular, following the line of the road. Rather massive fucking detour, but it was still a way through. He bit his lip slightly, worrying at it as he traced a finger along the lines of the map, his rifle once again hanging loosely by his side.
"Warrick, right?" He had known the scientist's name all along, of course, having been given at least that much detail for this little escort mission. Hadn't bothered to actually use it until now, though. "Assuming the natives don't have a vehicle like B-C said, and assuming their communications are just as shitty as we think, the detour seems like the best choice. If the road still exists."
The maps were always constantly being re-drawn and updated as the invasion continued, what with entire villages and roads and bridges being wiped out in the chaos of battle. Toreth tapped the road thoughtfully as he scanned the map for other routes. The other routes were either further into unsecured, unknown territory or they required going off-road, which meant a hundred more potential obstacles. They didn't have time for that, especially not in the dark.
"33.996, 68.076, that's the outpost. I repeat, 39.996, 68.076. There should be a right turn a few hundred meters ahead that'll get us on the way. We'll take that."
"Copy that, sir." B-C, being ever-reliable.
"And Gill? Excellent fucking driving. Barely felt a thing back here. Really. Think you only battered our package just a little." Toreth grinned as he said it, and nodded over to Warrick, directing his speech off the comms again. "Are you alright?"
There was barely a pause after Toreth's question before his driver was answering him smartly. "I know you like your little liaisons rough, Corporal."
"Don't be cheeky and just drive, thanks, you bald fuck. Couldn't even pull your fucking hair while I fucked you even if I wanted to. Don't get jealous just because you've got a mug only your inbred mother could love. Fucking Welsh piece of shit."
Well. One could certainly tell that he was in the company of soldiers.
The flurry of good-natured insults and profanity seemed so absurdly out of place that for a moment all Warrick could do was stare in shock. Then a giggle burst through his lips and he had to clap a hand over his mouth as the laughter overtook him, bending him at the waist until he sat with his head almost between his knees, ribs aching.
"S-sorry," he sputtered when he could breathe again, voice thick with relieved amusement. "Delayed panic response, I think. Christ, I can't believe we were just shot at. No, I'm fine. A few bruises at most, nothing serious. My back will likely be black and blue tomorrow."
His dark eyes gleamed a little in the low light of the truck as he grinned back at Toreth.
"But you can tell your wheelman that I had rougher liaisons than this in uni, though they usually had the decency to get me properly drunk first. And it's Dr. Warrick. Or Keir."
The truck lurched a little as they made the turn and Warrick leaned in the opposite direction to keep his balance, mimicking Toreth's posture now that he was aware enough of it to do so.
Toreth was slightly astounded at the laughter, having barely batted an eye as he delivered the barb at his driver the whole thing was so normal to him. There was a response from Gill -- something along the lines of 'just because your ma never loved you' -- but it was lost in the scientist's outburst, and he forgot to respond entirely.
Maybe the civilian wasn't as stuck-up as he had originally thought, then. The grin didn't leave his face as he watched Warrick recover, watched him straighten and speak. Bruises sounded fine. If he hadn't strained, pulled or broken anything, it didn't need to be looked at, and Toreth was more than happy to let him shoulder the pain. But Christ, the man was just asking to be fucked, wasn't he? Between all that adrenaline. The grin turned smug as Toreth lowered his eyes and watched the other man through his lashes.
"Interested in my driver now, are you, Dr. Warrick? Gill's one of the nicer ones, so he probably won't play as rough as it sounds like you'd like, but he might go the effort of getting you drunk and all." Bluff. Gill loved women too much to deviate. Not that Toreth had actively tried to sleep with any of his team -- that was simply too messy and unprofessional, even by his standards. Everything he knew about his team's tastes was through outlandish stories, told to kill time.
"I wouldn't, by the way. Have the decency to get you proper drunk first. It'd dull the experience, don't you think?"
"It might very well be the only way you'd get me to go home with you in the first place," Warrick countered, still smiling despite the painful pull of his shoulder when he reached behind him to brace against another bumpy section of road. He deserved a massage after this trip. The medical center on the base would likely have a physical therapist and Warrick would be taking advantage as soon as possible.
Toreth seemed more relaxed now, which comforted him more effectively than the lack of gunfire in the air. The danger might not be completely over and done with but things were apparently back on track enough for the Corporal to start flirting with him again. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a one-off with a military man? He'd never been tempted before, as most of his encounters with the Royals had been frankly antagonistic affairs in which he tolerated them at best. He didn't come to this country to correct the failings of the Defense Ministry and he didn't come here to roll around the sheets with grunts either.
Still, he imagined it would be a hell of a ride. He let his eyes roam over Toreth again, lingering at his hands and the way the man casually held his weapon, long fingers cradling the grip away from the trigger. Relaxed but ready to slip into lethality between one breath and the next and every bit of him dangerous.
"No, I don't think 'decency' would factor into things at all," he murmured, just barely audible above the growl of the engine.
Toreth followed the civilian's gaze, fairly conscious of what the other man was looking at. Adrenaline from being shot at meant he was already half-buzzing, restless with the need to do something, and the feeling coupled with his sleep deprivation and coffee crystals meant he was feeling utterly reckless beneath his cool exterior. Hearing snatches of Warrick's murmured words didn't help his attitude, either, the words thrilling him a little.
He hefted his weapon, tilting it slightly so that Warrick could get a better look at it. Toreth kept his gaze on him as he spoke, voice smooth and practiced.
"It's an SA80 A2 ACOG. Gas-operated assault-rifle, with an overall length of 785mm and a barrel length of 518mm. Five kilos when all kitted out, about four kilos when it isn't. Has a muzzle velocity of 940m/s and it's effective up to 400m, though you can do fairly well with it from up to 600m if you use the right gear and know what you're doing. Fires 610 to 775 rounds per minute." He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "It's very fucking dangerous. Want to hold it?"
Warrick knew about guns in theory; how they worked, what specifics of engineering differentiated one type of weapon from another. He'd never held one himself, though he made certain that SimTech's security team was outfitted with the best. Despite the few self-defense courses he'd been obliged to take through the company, he'd never really felt comfortable with the idea of carrying or using a gun. He felt that sort of thing was best left to his bodyguard and the professionals.
Even now, with the offer made, Warrick still wasn't sure he actually wanted to hold the rifle. It looked natural in Toreth's arms, like an extension of his body. It wouldn't look the same in his hands at all.
He looked between the gun and the soldier, his fingers reaching to trace over the barrel, cold metal that would become burning hot if it were to fire. He shivered.
"I think perhaps not," he decided after a moment, taking his hand back and sliding it between his legs, as if to warm his fingers. "I don't have much experience holding dangerous things." The words were flirtatious but his tone was thoughtful.
The answer and reaction seemed to satisfy Toreth in some way, because he smiled after seeing and hearing it. Nice double-meaning. If all escort missions were this entertaining and featured this attractive of potential -- no, he had already sworn, definite -- fucks, he might not object to them so much.
He let the rifle rest against his lap again, loosely gripping it with a hand as he gestured with the other, giving a casual wave.
"I'd be happy to let you practice at your own leisure whenever you'd like," he said generously, the smile still on his face. He was about to leave it at that, but then a thought occurred to him suddenly, and he wanted to try and throw the other man off-balance. That it seemed difficult to do so made it all the more appealing of a venture.
"So tell me, how rough do you really like it? I'm curious."
If the question startled Warrick at all, he didn't show it. There wasn't even a hint of a blush on his cheeks and he looked Toreth right in the eye as he answered.
"Rough enough to be extremely selective in my choice of partners, lest I end up in an unsafe situation. What I like is not to everyone's tastes. And sometimes it's entirely too much to someone's taste. I need to know that my evening isn't going to end in a mess my bodyguard needs to tidy up."
And to be honest, Warrick hadn't indulged in his particular tastes since the divorce. Messiness with Lissa over his contract work and the settlement followed by a long stretch of being too busy with SimTech for much of anything else had kept him fairly celibate. He had the occasional 'tame' fling with colleagues during conferences and benefits and that was it.
"What about you, Corporal?" he asked, turning the question back around at the other man. "How rough do you like it? I don't imagine they let you lot 'fraternize' much, but do you get tired enough of violence during your day job that you'd rather indulge in mild cuddling in your off hours?"
Toreth couldn't hold back a chuckle at the question, simply because it was fucking outrageous. Mild cuddling? If any of his men heard that, even posed as an interrogative, he'd never hear the end of it.
"Quite the contrary. This marine enjoys continuing the violence into the wee hours of the morning, if asked nicely for it, and is utterly unapologetic about the fact." He was half-joking, but his tone lent a certain degree of ambiguity to the words, making it sound rather matter-of-fact.
Toreth looked lazy, almost bored as he spoke. In truth, he was having a hard time believing that the earlier question hadn't gotten a rise out of the man. Warrick had thrown the question back at him, after a rather effortless and intriguing reply. Rough enough to be entirely too much to someone's taste, was it? Toreth could imagine that: the stubborn civilian requiring a bit of shoving around and threatening before he complied with anything, moaning denials and putting up a serious fight as he was held down upon the floor or up against a wall. Twisting and writhing, not wanting to be touched and groped and eventually fucked by a 'killer', but liking it all the same despite his fancy fucking morals.
Definitely intriguing.
He tried again, determined to ruffle feathers. Determined to make that cool mask break.
"Given your preferences, now I'm incredibly surprised you don't make a habit of fucking government-sanctioned killers. We're fairly good at following the rules given to us, you know. Operating within safe boundaries. We're good at giving commands, too. For example..." He hesitated for only half a second. Unprofessional to do this on duty, but he wasn't planning on taking it too far, so it couldn't hurt that much, could it? Not unless the civilian here went crying to his CO about sexual harassment or some other bullshit.
Toreth leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice hardened, and whatever conversational tone he had going disappeared completely. His tone was dark and dangerous, and unmistakably a command.
'Utterly unapologetic' was almost expected at this point. Unlike the 'if asked nicely for it' part was not. How many people, Warrick wondered, had ever asked for the sort of things he was imagined when he thought about taking the man to bed? There were those that got off on the thought of being with a soldier, he was sure. Men in uniform was a specific kink for a reason. But that wasn't quite it for him. Corporal Toreth would be just as dangerous without the body armor and the gun.
Warrick was confident that he wouldn't ask for it nicely, though. At least, not at first. The marine would have to earn his capitulation and he didn't plan on making it easy to obtain. He had a feeling Toreth was used to it being all too easy to find forgettable bodies to fuck, without even a hint of effort being put into it. It must be rather boring for him, he mused. If the Corporal was lazily flirting with civilian scientists in the middle of a warzone, he must have run through his options fairly quickly out here.
Did he really want to offer himself up as an alternative? The mention of safe boundaries made his eyes narrow in skepticism. It was true that soldiers generally were good at following explicit instructions. And it would be fairly stupid of the marine to put himself in a position where Warrick would be inclined to file a report or give a complaint. Dishonorable discharge awaited many a disgraced soldier who couldn't keep to the rules and injury to an allied scientist with corporate connections wouldn't go over too well with Toreth's superiors.
Which is why it startled him to hear the shift in the man's voice and posture, and the words-
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, sucking all the air from his lungs and leaving him stunned and tensed. Toreth's voice promised a whole host of things; things Warrick shouldn't want in the first place. His legs jerked with the instinctive urge to buckle under the force of that command, but he was already sitting and this wasn't really the time or the place. Something he was sure the corporal was aware of already.
Warrick's eyes closed for a count of five, rebuilding his composure until he was certain he could speak without betraying himself. He licked his lips before he tried.
"Not the best time for games like that, sir. This might not be exactly what I meant by an 'unsafe situation' but I think escaping an armed ambush qualifies, don't you?"
If that had drawn the reaction that Toreth had intended, satisfaction didn't show through on his features. He remained as he was, perfectly poised to easily reach over and grab, his gaze intense as if he were seriously contemplating jerking the civilian down so that he'd comply. He let Warrick's words settle in the air, not answering for a few long seconds.
Sir. Sounded nice from Warrick's lips, even tainted with disdain as it was. He had liked how careful the man was, too, so persistent on keeping his cool, even after his rather telling stunned silence. Eyes closed, then measured tones, and then no indication of outrage at being spoken to like that. Just, not the best time. Later, then. The reaction spoke volumes.
Toreth finally laughed again, breaking character as he leaned back, far enough that he was slouched against the wall of the vehicle. The back of his head rested against the wall, which looked a little uncomfortable, really, as the vehicle continued on its path, shaking over the dirt road. He glanced at the flimsy excuse for a door and barrier separating them from the other two men, and he didn't have to guess that they were being eavesdropped on. There was a reason the comms were so quiet.
"Probably. Don't worry, your safety is actually -- and unfortunately -- my top fucking priority right now. I'd hate to make Gill blush, anyway." This time there was no indication that he was clicking the comms on when he directed his question, and as a result he spoke up. "How are we for time, Gill?"
There was a silence, a complete lack of a response, and Toreth practically rolled his eyes, reaching over to thump on the barrier. There were words in Welsh, presumably curse words, before the reply came.
"About fifteen minutes to the outpost, Corporal. Great thing about the lack of intrastructure here is there are no speed limits. I've been doing bloody 100, can you believe that?" Through backroads? Yes, actually, because fuck, this was an awful ride. "Anyway, fifteen minutes is probably enough time for a combat jerk, but Bradley and I would really prefer you didn't get the back of the Mastiff dirty. You know we have to clean that up, and that might count as sloppy seconds. Does it, Bradley?"
"Do you know what sloppy seconds even means, you fucking retard?"
Toreth didn't respond, too busy thinking over the logistics of the whole operation. Despite the assertiveness with which he had said he was going to deliver the civilian by morning, it was looking like a less and less likely venture the more he thought about it.
It was a military outpost, which meant a lot of army fucks manning it, which meant a face-off on whose dick was bigger (the marines', obviously). What Toreth really wanted was a vehicle swap-over and to send some men out to catch the terrorists or sabs or whatever-the-fuck they were to find out more intel, but that would be a lot of negotiating that he really had no authority to do, and he knew Tillotson would be fucking inept about the whole thing. A bonus, though, was that the army arseholes had more to worry about in regards to the systems going haywire -- on top of the drones, they were trialing the Tracking Point TP750s. Marines were too old hat -- and elitist at that -- to switch to the self-aiming rifles. The whole thing was a fucking disaster, anyway. Sniper rifles that could potentially be bricked or purposefully fed the wrong target coordinates? A fucking nightmare.
Maybe he could convince the civilian for a quick fuck before he delivered him, if the delays were going to be long. The thought seemed to cheer him significantly, because he was smiling slightly, though a part of him doubted he would even be in the mood for fucking once he was done waving his dick around metaphorically.
Having internalised most of his thoughts, his words seemed to come out of the blue.
"I hope your schedule wasn't too busy, because there's no bloody way we're going to get you there on time." And then, almost immediately after, "Are you really the only one who can fix these systems?" Toreth raised an eyebrow.
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no subject
"Warrick, right?" He had known the scientist's name all along, of course, having been given at least that much detail for this little escort mission. Hadn't bothered to actually use it until now, though. "Assuming the natives don't have a vehicle like B-C said, and assuming their communications are just as shitty as we think, the detour seems like the best choice. If the road still exists."
The maps were always constantly being re-drawn and updated as the invasion continued, what with entire villages and roads and bridges being wiped out in the chaos of battle. Toreth tapped the road thoughtfully as he scanned the map for other routes. The other routes were either further into unsecured, unknown territory or they required going off-road, which meant a hundred more potential obstacles. They didn't have time for that, especially not in the dark.
"33.996, 68.076, that's the outpost. I repeat, 39.996, 68.076. There should be a right turn a few hundred meters ahead that'll get us on the way. We'll take that."
"Copy that, sir." B-C, being ever-reliable.
"And Gill? Excellent fucking driving. Barely felt a thing back here. Really. Think you only battered our package just a little." Toreth grinned as he said it, and nodded over to Warrick, directing his speech off the comms again. "Are you alright?"
There was barely a pause after Toreth's question before his driver was answering him smartly. "I know you like your little liaisons rough, Corporal."
"Don't be cheeky and just drive, thanks, you bald fuck. Couldn't even pull your fucking hair while I fucked you even if I wanted to. Don't get jealous just because you've got a mug only your inbred mother could love. Fucking Welsh piece of shit."
no subject
The flurry of good-natured insults and profanity seemed so absurdly out of place that for a moment all Warrick could do was stare in shock. Then a giggle burst through his lips and he had to clap a hand over his mouth as the laughter overtook him, bending him at the waist until he sat with his head almost between his knees, ribs aching.
"S-sorry," he sputtered when he could breathe again, voice thick with relieved amusement. "Delayed panic response, I think. Christ, I can't believe we were just shot at. No, I'm fine. A few bruises at most, nothing serious. My back will likely be black and blue tomorrow."
His dark eyes gleamed a little in the low light of the truck as he grinned back at Toreth.
"But you can tell your wheelman that I had rougher liaisons than this in uni, though they usually had the decency to get me properly drunk first. And it's Dr. Warrick. Or Keir."
The truck lurched a little as they made the turn and Warrick leaned in the opposite direction to keep his balance, mimicking Toreth's posture now that he was aware enough of it to do so.
no subject
Maybe the civilian wasn't as stuck-up as he had originally thought, then. The grin didn't leave his face as he watched Warrick recover, watched him straighten and speak. Bruises sounded fine. If he hadn't strained, pulled or broken anything, it didn't need to be looked at, and Toreth was more than happy to let him shoulder the pain. But Christ, the man was just asking to be fucked, wasn't he? Between all that adrenaline. The grin turned smug as Toreth lowered his eyes and watched the other man through his lashes.
"Interested in my driver now, are you, Dr. Warrick? Gill's one of the nicer ones, so he probably won't play as rough as it sounds like you'd like, but he might go the effort of getting you drunk and all." Bluff. Gill loved women too much to deviate. Not that Toreth had actively tried to sleep with any of his team -- that was simply too messy and unprofessional, even by his standards. Everything he knew about his team's tastes was through outlandish stories, told to kill time.
"I wouldn't, by the way. Have the decency to get you proper drunk first. It'd dull the experience, don't you think?"
no subject
Toreth seemed more relaxed now, which comforted him more effectively than the lack of gunfire in the air. The danger might not be completely over and done with but things were apparently back on track enough for the Corporal to start flirting with him again. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a one-off with a military man? He'd never been tempted before, as most of his encounters with the Royals had been frankly antagonistic affairs in which he tolerated them at best. He didn't come to this country to correct the failings of the Defense Ministry and he didn't come here to roll around the sheets with grunts either.
Still, he imagined it would be a hell of a ride. He let his eyes roam over Toreth again, lingering at his hands and the way the man casually held his weapon, long fingers cradling the grip away from the trigger. Relaxed but ready to slip into lethality between one breath and the next and every bit of him dangerous.
"No, I don't think 'decency' would factor into things at all," he murmured, just barely audible above the growl of the engine.
no subject
He hefted his weapon, tilting it slightly so that Warrick could get a better look at it. Toreth kept his gaze on him as he spoke, voice smooth and practiced.
"It's an SA80 A2 ACOG. Gas-operated assault-rifle, with an overall length of 785mm and a barrel length of 518mm. Five kilos when all kitted out, about four kilos when it isn't. Has a muzzle velocity of 940m/s and it's effective up to 400m, though you can do fairly well with it from up to 600m if you use the right gear and know what you're doing. Fires 610 to 775 rounds per minute." He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "It's very fucking dangerous. Want to hold it?"
no subject
Even now, with the offer made, Warrick still wasn't sure he actually wanted to hold the rifle. It looked natural in Toreth's arms, like an extension of his body. It wouldn't look the same in his hands at all.
He looked between the gun and the soldier, his fingers reaching to trace over the barrel, cold metal that would become burning hot if it were to fire. He shivered.
"I think perhaps not," he decided after a moment, taking his hand back and sliding it between his legs, as if to warm his fingers. "I don't have much experience holding dangerous things." The words were flirtatious but his tone was thoughtful.
no subject
He let the rifle rest against his lap again, loosely gripping it with a hand as he gestured with the other, giving a casual wave.
"I'd be happy to let you practice at your own leisure whenever you'd like," he said generously, the smile still on his face. He was about to leave it at that, but then a thought occurred to him suddenly, and he wanted to try and throw the other man off-balance. That it seemed difficult to do so made it all the more appealing of a venture.
"So tell me, how rough do you really like it? I'm curious."
no subject
"Rough enough to be extremely selective in my choice of partners, lest I end up in an unsafe situation. What I like is not to everyone's tastes. And sometimes it's entirely too much to someone's taste. I need to know that my evening isn't going to end in a mess my bodyguard needs to tidy up."
And to be honest, Warrick hadn't indulged in his particular tastes since the divorce. Messiness with Lissa over his contract work and the settlement followed by a long stretch of being too busy with SimTech for much of anything else had kept him fairly celibate. He had the occasional 'tame' fling with colleagues during conferences and benefits and that was it.
"What about you, Corporal?" he asked, turning the question back around at the other man. "How rough do you like it? I don't imagine they let you lot 'fraternize' much, but do you get tired enough of violence during your day job that you'd rather indulge in mild cuddling in your off hours?"
Somehow he couldn't picture it.
no subject
"Quite the contrary. This marine enjoys continuing the violence into the wee hours of the morning, if asked nicely for it, and is utterly unapologetic about the fact." He was half-joking, but his tone lent a certain degree of ambiguity to the words, making it sound rather matter-of-fact.
Toreth looked lazy, almost bored as he spoke. In truth, he was having a hard time believing that the earlier question hadn't gotten a rise out of the man. Warrick had thrown the question back at him, after a rather effortless and intriguing reply. Rough enough to be entirely too much to someone's taste, was it? Toreth could imagine that: the stubborn civilian requiring a bit of shoving around and threatening before he complied with anything, moaning denials and putting up a serious fight as he was held down upon the floor or up against a wall. Twisting and writhing, not wanting to be touched and groped and eventually fucked by a 'killer', but liking it all the same despite his fancy fucking morals.
Definitely intriguing.
He tried again, determined to ruffle feathers. Determined to make that cool mask break.
"Given your preferences, now I'm incredibly surprised you don't make a habit of fucking government-sanctioned killers. We're fairly good at following the rules given to us, you know. Operating within safe boundaries. We're good at giving commands, too. For example..." He hesitated for only half a second. Unprofessional to do this on duty, but he wasn't planning on taking it too far, so it couldn't hurt that much, could it? Not unless the civilian here went crying to his CO about sexual harassment or some other bullshit.
Toreth leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice hardened, and whatever conversational tone he had going disappeared completely. His tone was dark and dangerous, and unmistakably a command.
"Get down on your fucking knees, doctor."
no subject
Warrick was confident that he wouldn't ask for it nicely, though. At least, not at first. The marine would have to earn his capitulation and he didn't plan on making it easy to obtain. He had a feeling Toreth was used to it being all too easy to find forgettable bodies to fuck, without even a hint of effort being put into it. It must be rather boring for him, he mused. If the Corporal was lazily flirting with civilian scientists in the middle of a warzone, he must have run through his options fairly quickly out here.
Did he really want to offer himself up as an alternative? The mention of safe boundaries made his eyes narrow in skepticism. It was true that soldiers generally were good at following explicit instructions. And it would be fairly stupid of the marine to put himself in a position where Warrick would be inclined to file a report or give a complaint. Dishonorable discharge awaited many a disgraced soldier who couldn't keep to the rules and injury to an allied scientist with corporate connections wouldn't go over too well with Toreth's superiors.
Which is why it startled him to hear the shift in the man's voice and posture, and the words-
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, sucking all the air from his lungs and leaving him stunned and tensed. Toreth's voice promised a whole host of things; things Warrick shouldn't want in the first place. His legs jerked with the instinctive urge to buckle under the force of that command, but he was already sitting and this wasn't really the time or the place. Something he was sure the corporal was aware of already.
Warrick's eyes closed for a count of five, rebuilding his composure until he was certain he could speak without betraying himself. He licked his lips before he tried.
"Not the best time for games like that, sir. This might not be exactly what I meant by an 'unsafe situation' but I think escaping an armed ambush qualifies, don't you?"
expositionin'
Sir. Sounded nice from Warrick's lips, even tainted with disdain as it was. He had liked how careful the man was, too, so persistent on keeping his cool, even after his rather telling stunned silence. Eyes closed, then measured tones, and then no indication of outrage at being spoken to like that. Just, not the best time. Later, then. The reaction spoke volumes.
Toreth finally laughed again, breaking character as he leaned back, far enough that he was slouched against the wall of the vehicle. The back of his head rested against the wall, which looked a little uncomfortable, really, as the vehicle continued on its path, shaking over the dirt road. He glanced at the flimsy excuse for a door and barrier separating them from the other two men, and he didn't have to guess that they were being eavesdropped on. There was a reason the comms were so quiet.
"Probably. Don't worry, your safety is actually -- and unfortunately -- my top fucking priority right now. I'd hate to make Gill blush, anyway." This time there was no indication that he was clicking the comms on when he directed his question, and as a result he spoke up. "How are we for time, Gill?"
There was a silence, a complete lack of a response, and Toreth practically rolled his eyes, reaching over to thump on the barrier. There were words in Welsh, presumably curse words, before the reply came.
"About fifteen minutes to the outpost, Corporal. Great thing about the lack of intrastructure here is there are no speed limits. I've been doing bloody 100, can you believe that?" Through backroads? Yes, actually, because fuck, this was an awful ride. "Anyway, fifteen minutes is probably enough time for a combat jerk, but Bradley and I would really prefer you didn't get the back of the Mastiff dirty. You know we have to clean that up, and that might count as sloppy seconds. Does it, Bradley?"
"Do you know what sloppy seconds even means, you fucking retard?"
Toreth didn't respond, too busy thinking over the logistics of the whole operation. Despite the assertiveness with which he had said he was going to deliver the civilian by morning, it was looking like a less and less likely venture the more he thought about it.
It was a military outpost, which meant a lot of army fucks manning it, which meant a face-off on whose dick was bigger (the marines', obviously). What Toreth really wanted was a vehicle swap-over and to send some men out to catch the terrorists or sabs or whatever-the-fuck they were to find out more intel, but that would be a lot of negotiating that he really had no authority to do, and he knew Tillotson would be fucking inept about the whole thing. A bonus, though, was that the army arseholes had more to worry about in regards to the systems going haywire -- on top of the drones, they were trialing the Tracking Point TP750s. Marines were too old hat -- and elitist at that -- to switch to the self-aiming rifles. The whole thing was a fucking disaster, anyway. Sniper rifles that could potentially be bricked or purposefully fed the wrong target coordinates? A fucking nightmare.
Maybe he could convince the civilian for a quick fuck before he delivered him, if the delays were going to be long. The thought seemed to cheer him significantly, because he was smiling slightly, though a part of him doubted he would even be in the mood for fucking once he was done waving his dick around metaphorically.
Having internalised most of his thoughts, his words seemed to come out of the blue.
"I hope your schedule wasn't too busy, because there's no bloody way we're going to get you there on time." And then, almost immediately after, "Are you really the only one who can fix these systems?" Toreth raised an eyebrow.