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
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.