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"Looking good today, doctor." Pliskin is nonchalant as he walks up to him with two disposable cups of coffee, settling in front of one of the two tables they’d haphazardly pushed together and made into a temporary home for their ‘on the run’ equipment - screens, keyboards, speakers, an emergency communications jammer, the like.
He says it so casually, it almost doesn't register. Hal looks down at his worn out sneakers that don't quite match his shirt. The blazer thrown on in a rush with one side of the collar still tucked in awkwardly. The jeans that have stains of dirt and other forgotten substances on them, color gradually diminished by inexperienced wash after wash.
"Oh. Thanks, lieutenant?" He can't tell if Sn- Pliskin, his name is Pliskin - is toying with him, or just genuinely passing by a random compliment. Both seem unlikely things for the man he's known for years to do, but then again, this isn't really him, per se. Maybe he’s trying to polish up his act by doing things that are obviously unlike him.
Pliskin nods, and there’s a little smile on his face. Something Hal is desperately trying to get used to, those purposeless, unwarranted smiles that the lieutenant often throws his way. Ever since that uniform came on and the bandana came off, he’s been much more relaxed, an air of carelessness around him.
It suits him, somehow. He knows his eyes still dart around anxiously, that he still checks every entrance to this room periodically, that he keeps a gun hidden in his boot, but the facade of a man with nothing to worry about that he’s been showing Hal - and only Hal, Raiden has been getting the short end of the stick, really - warms his heart just a bit.
"No problem. Just tell me if you enjoy your coffee. Made it sweet, just how you like it." He says as he hands the doctor his cup, and he swears that he felt the intentional brush of fingers as he accepts the coffee. Pliskin pauses when the touch registers in Hal’s brain and hums, and it feels like he's trying to apply dramatic effect, of all things.
"Fits you well." He says, sitting in his chair with a charming smile before turning to bring his pair of headphones up to his ears again, resting them perfectly on the headphone dent in his hair that he’s been meaning to tease him about.
Hal doesn't know what to say. He sputters and moves to sip at his drink through the hole in the plastic, ignoring the excessive heat that seeps through the refined cardboard and into his hand, and the way his tongue burns at the contact. As much as he loves keeping his nerves intact, this is the lesser of two evils, the greater evil being actually responding to this... flirting.
Pliskin is flirting with him. Randomly, stubbornly, laying it on completely thick like this was a badly written romance and Hal somehow found himself as the stumbling lead of it being courted by the handsome stranger at a bar. Pliskin had to have an ulterior motive, or a reason, or something that justified this.
No need in letting the question marinate in his mind. Hal had to ask - honesty was the trademark of their partnership. Clear and open communication was key to teamwork, or whatever the lieutenant said the "first" day they met.
"Snake, what are y-"
The chime of the codec's incoming call cuts him off cleanly, leaving him stumbling to catch the middle of Raiden's sentence as he places the cup down, pressing one side of his headphones to his ear in alarm.
"-do I go?" Hal curses silently as he adjusts the headphones now with both hands free, thanking every entity above that Pliskin was ready to take the call and pay attention.
"Looks like, uh… Hmm…" Pliskin motions for him to flip through the cameras. Right. Tracking the infiltrating man down is probably a good idea that Hal’s jumbled mess of a brain didn't think of doing.
He instantly grabs hold of his mouse - lamenting the loss of feeling in his trusty right hand for a moment - and begins doing as told. At last, the top of Raiden's head shows in the corner of Hal’s screen, and he looks at where it corresponds to the map he’s had open on another monitor.
"You're gonna wanna take the next left, but watch out - There's two guards there patrolling, and one guard on the other side." He can spot the white hair moving behind layers of boxes, snorts quietly at the unusual sight.
"Should be able to get by if you stick to the wall and pay attention to their routine. Don't waste your tranq darts if you can help it." Pliskin adds, his field expertise filling in gaps Hal's position behind a screen could never assist with. It warms his heart, the way they somehow make the perfect team no matter what roles they play.
Raiden grunts, looks up at the camera and gives a quick thumbs up.
“Surprised you answered the call this time, Pliskin. Usually Otacon is first to the phone.” He's whispering as he sneaks past the unsuspecting men, careless enough in his approach that it would make Snake scowl. Although when Hal turns to gauge his reaction, he's only smirking to himself. Huh.
“Well, the doctor here was very busy this time.”
Oh. Oh no.
“Busy? Shouldn't your focus be on the mission?”
Hal groans and pushes the button on his mic, directing a half-hearted glare at his jubilant partner.
“It very much is on the mission, Raiden. Don't worry about him.”
“You sure? What do you guys get up to when I'm not calling, anyway?” From an outsider’s perspective, the question could’ve seemed self-centered. But Hal knows the young man is genuinely just curious, and a little rusty at controlling his tone, which ends up painting him as a disrespectful person.
“We-”
“A lot of things, really. Nothing you'd wanna hear.” The flirtatious purr in Pliskin's usually gruff voice is back, this time accompanied by a disgusted look from where Hal is supervising Raiden. The man turns his head to face the nearest camera he can spot, just to properly show his disgust to the two men. Dramatic.
Hal dryly moves the camera from side to side in acknowledgement, and Raiden drops the expression and turns to check his surroundings before proceeding.
The doctor has no idea why Snake would be doing this. It's not like he's opposed to the sudden affectionate treatment, but… it's very uncommon for his best friend to follow his whims, much less romantic ones to his knowledge, and especially not in front of others. He'd taken the man for the type to hate PDA, not initiate it willingly.
And just why was he doing it, anyway? What was the purpose behind this driven approach? Was he working on selling the Pliskin identity by doing something as unimaginable as openly flirting with Hal? Thickening the barrier between the persona and Solid Snake, trying to draw a bolder line in front of Raiden?
It wasn’t like he could ask about Pliskin’s intentions while the codec was still on. While Hal’s microphone was push-to-talk, the lieutenant refused to let Hal tinker with his headphones so it’d match his settings. Something about how he’d probably forget to unmute and then talk into a broken mic for an hour straight, none the wiser. Hal shrugged and let him be, but now he somewhat regrets not pushing it further as he focuses on the mischievous glint in his partner’s eyes, the way his tongue darts out to lick at a stray droplet of dark coffee, the way his chair is tantalizingly close to Hal’s, thighs almost touching…
“Otacon.” Raiden’s voice snaps him out of his stupor, and he flips through the cameras again to find him. He huffs at Pliskin’s silent laugh before activating his microphone, relaying the layout of the place and the positions of each hostile red dot that their sonar detects on the map. Pliskin jumps in with a reminder of tactical strategies, and Raiden takes every word to heart. It’s almost impressive, the way he instantly incorporates new information to his advantage. Almost, because Hal has seen a real legend in action, and the white-haired man is clumsy in comparison, likely due to the lack of real experience in infiltration outside of his beloved virtual reality missions.
“You still need us, Raiden? You look like you could go on your own.” He says, impatient to cut the codec, the exact opposite of how he’d been when Snake was the one out there - insisting to keep the call going, just so he can help with any new information he finds. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Raiden’s well-being, it’s that Pliskin’s hand was dangerously close to his knee and their thighs were now absolutely touching, the lieutenant’s sculpted muscle against his somewhat lanky one.
Raiden grunts as he heaves up a tranquilized guard, dragging him slowly to lay him down silently behind a pile of boxes. It’s risky, but it’s better than leaving him out in the open for anybody to spot.
“I think I’d appreciate having you guys on the line. I’ve got a bad feeling-” Hal has to resist letting out a groan loud enough to be picked up by Pliskin’s microphone, which is too close for comfort right now. Pliskin looks at him and shrugs.
“Gut feelings are important out on the field, but make sure they don’t cloud your judgement. Although… being extra careful is never a bad thing.” He grins at Hal like he just told an inside joke, and that breaks the doctor’s resolve, causing him to lean just a tad closer and hum before activating his microphone.
“Yeah… you’d know a lot about being careful, wouldn’t you, lieutenant?” He draws out the word like it’s dirty, and he has to suppress a wide smile at the way Pliskin is visibly surprised at the tone he’s taken on.
“It comes with the job, really.” He fires back, leaning in close, enough that Hal can feel his breath, can feel the mic jabbing against his cheek…
“Uh.” Raiden says, and his confusion is visible. “Um. Okay. Thanks, guys. I get the point. Any guards here, Otacon?”
He desperately tries to ignore his curiosity about the situation, changing the subject awkwardly, letting the unspoken question hang in the air. What the hell is going on over there? Hal has to pull back and ignore the way Pliskin’s eyes follow his lips as he speaks into the mic.
“Three patrolling, one stationary. Looks like he’s keeping guard over the tools behind him.”
“Make sure you get him first if you’re gonna make use of your gun. He has a good view over everything - if you down anybody else first, he’ll see it.” Raiden hums over the line, voice crackling from the less than stellar quality of the call. The suppressor does its job - they don’t hear the dart being fired, only see the aftermath as the guard crumples to the ground unceremoniously. Raiden moves quickly to hide him, repeating the process from earlier, methodical and careful.
The lieutenant looks proud, chest puffed out and a smirk on his face. It’s a good look on him, a far cry from the near-constant frowns plastered onto his face throughout the rough beginnings of Raiden’s mission. Hal finds he really likes that rare smirk that’s become much more common during Pliskin’s reign over the operation.
“Alright,” Raiden says, mostly to himself. “Anything else?”
Hal hums, interrupted by the feeling of a hand on his knee. He lets his eyes dart to the side for a moment, ignoring the way his heart flutters as Pliskin reaches over him to grab his pack of cigarettes, using the grip as leverage to push himself up. In the process, the screen is blocked, which should bother him - but it provides Hal with an excellent view of his back and shoulder muscles as he reaches.
If he just leans forward a little…
“Otacon?” Hal hears the tell-tale signs of Raiden tapping his mic a few times to make sure it still works, and the loud assault on his ears makes him wince. “Otacon, do you read me?”
“Yes, yeah,” He nods to himself as Pliskin finally leans back, but his hand remains at its spot, only now moving up to his thigh. Casual. No explanation behind it, no purpose. Just touching for the sake of touching, which isn’t too outlandish for Snake, but he usually does it to drive home a point or to soothe Hal when his words fail him.
It’s driving him mad. He can barely focus as he relays standard instructions to Raiden - be careful, watch over your shoulder, blah blah. Both men can tell his heart isn’t in it, attention diverted to the way Pliskin’s hand reaches into his inner thigh for only a few seconds before leaving completely.
“Do you still need the codec, Raiden?” Hal blurts out without thinking, before Pliskin holds a hand up to silence him - the same hand that was touching him, so intimately - and he speaks confidently into his mic.
“Raiden, somewhere up ahead you’re gonna find a box marked with a red pen. It’s not obvious, so look carefully for the letter ‘P’. When you see it, take the instant left. Enjoy your hunt.” He says, and Hal looks at him incredulously. Setting up an adventure for Raiden during a mission? Who was this man?
Drawing a bolder line between the two. Right. That must be the motive.
“...Okay?” Raiden says, huffing and investigating every box he comes across as Hal flips through the cameras, watching him while suppressing a snort at the frustrated look on his face.
“Why won’t you just tell me where it is, Pliskin? Is finding that ‘P’ in red really necessary?” He says as another search turns out blank. He groans and moves on to the next stack. Hal can’t quite be mad at the man beside him - the mischief is far too calculated, and besides, surely it has a meaning.
“Helps you be more observant, Raiden. You’ll learn a thing or two that your ‘VR missions’ don’t teach you.” His words come out scripted for a moment, and Hal uncovers why - Pliskin is staring straight at him, watching his every action. The doctor’s fingers twitch.
“And besides,” He says, with a wolfish grin that unfortunately causes something in his gut to stir. “I like to mark my territory.”
Hal gulps. He can tell that Pliskin’s eyes aren’t quite meeting his own, instead darting a little lower. He almost instinctively wants to protect his neck, bared and unprotected in front of this man who looks like he’s ready to devour him.
But why?
“Guessing that’s why it’s a ‘P’...” The comment’s undertone flies over Raiden’s head completely in his determination to end this search as fast as it began.
Hal holds his breath as Pliskin drags his chair even closer, the screech against the floor no doubt audible and easily picked up by the somewhat sensitive microphone. Still, Raiden pays them no mind. Maybe he could ask, if he lowers his voice, or maybe…
The doctor leans in to whisper his question into Pliskin’s ear, but the lieutenant clearly predicted this movement, because he leans back smoothly to grab his lighter with a knowing grin. So he wants to keep the game going. Frustration blooms in Hal’s chest, but he stomps it down, watching his partner take out a cigarette and place the filtered end into his mouth in one unconscious movement. Practiced a hundred times before, fueled by his addiction.
“Fancy a cigarette, doctor?” He asks, but he doesn’t offer the pack to Hal. Pliskin doesn’t even wait for him to nod or shake his head as he brings the lighter to the other end, lighting the stick with a few clicks to the old yet sturdy lighter, one of the few personal belongings that Snake values deeply, even when he regularly speaks of his training forcing him to discard all meaning for objects - this simple lighter had carved a special place in the soldier’s pockets. Perhaps Hal should someday ask about the inscription of ‘F’ into the silver, or wait for his partner to breach the topic himself. Though knowing the man, he would never volunteer information willingly and on his own.
The lighter goes back into his trusty breast pocket, and the cigarette’s end burns orange as the lieutenant breathes in, probably enough to breach his inspiratory reserve volume - Hal wasn’t a certified biologist by any means, but he did know the basics - and he leans in, free hand resting back on Hal’s upper thigh and he has to close his eyes, bracing himself for a wave of smoke.
Pliskin waits. For a signal, for an okay. He turns to blow the smoke away from Hal’s face, the sounds of Raiden’s expedition and his shoes hitting the ground roughly still booming in their ears. He could hear any word they say - probably wondering why Hal hasn’t responded to the question yet.
The doctor clears his throat. His mind supplies him with a helpful summary of a report he read once, on the harmful effects of secondhand smoke and its links to lung cancer especially in non-athletic people. Hal decides he can forgo his clean streak of healthy lungs for a chance to have Pliskin continue his strange game, and for a chance to maybe have him lean in even closer than last time.
“Yes, lieutenant, I’d like that. Thank you.”
To Raiden, this must sound like such an amiable gesture. Friendly and common. Pliskin grunts, the cigarette dangling from his lips before he purses them to properly breathe in the nicotine, feeling the rush of chemicals. Hal probably won’t enjoy the same effects, given it’s secondhand, but the way the lieutenant stands up just slightly to bring himself closer to Hal’s mouth makes him more dizzy than he’d ever be smoking a death stick.
He opens his mouth and welcomes the steady flow of smoke, carefully exhaled into his mouth. He inhales and makes sure not to cough out into Pliskin’s face, to show his appreciation for the gesture. His mouth is right in front of the other man’s. Raiden thinks they’re just sharing a smoke.
All these things add up to force Hal to instantly activate his microphone the moment Pliskin closes his mouth. He coughs once he’s away from the lieutenant, but that doesn’t matter, even if it’s heavily embarrassing to hear Raiden stifle a snort, no doubt judging him for his weak handling of his smoke.
“Raiden, I think it’s time for you to go on your own. Go on, spread your wings and fly.”
“But-”
“No buts, you’re doing fine. You don’t need constant radio support out there.” He lets go of the button for a few seconds, before groaning and reactivating his mic. “And, by the way, you just passed the right box. It’s to your right. Good luck.” Pliskin sputters indignantly beside him, no doubt peeved at the way Hal just spoiled his fun, but the doctor has more important things to worry about right now.
“Ah. Thanks.” He says sheepishly, turning to the correct box and heading left from there. Hal disconnects the codec call completely from both their headphones, the frequency abandoned before he grabs the lieutenant’s vest and brings him closer, a frustrated groan leaving him.
“What in the name of- what was that all about!” Hal’s voice is high-pitched, urgently complaining. Pliskin only laughs, a sound that would be lovely any other time but now only furthers his half-hearted annoyance.
“Just thought I’d see how much I could press your buttons, doctor. Nothing more.”
“Bullshit,” Hal says, ignoring how Pliskin takes a gentle puff from the cigarette, now more like his tidal volume, seeing as he didn’t have to breathe enough smoke for the two of them anymore. The man exudes relaxed confidence, it almost calms Hal down. Almost, if it wasn’t for Pliskin’s maddening touch on his thigh and the way his other hand grips at his arm carefully. Like he couldn’t break it in an instant if he really wanted to get out of his grasp.
“You've got to have a- a reason. For all this.” The unspoken question hangs in the air, Hal's thoughts laid out in the open with his urgency. Pliskin furrows his eyebrows, and for a moment the doctor's stomach sinks, heart beating faster. His grip on the other man's vest slowly begins to loosen.
“Why do I need a reason?” The lieutenant says, his voice gruff, suspicious. His disgruntled expression reminds him that this is Snake, under all the properties of his makeover.
“Because-” Hal starts, and then takes in a deep breath, his grip completely relaxing but fingers still curled around the fabric. Pliskin's hand rubs his elbow. His other hand inches away from his thigh.
“Because there's no way you're flirting with me out of nowhere for no reason. Are you trying to confuse Raiden? To expel any suspicions about your identity?” Hal doesn't mean to let the hurt bleed into his voice, but the sting of being left in the dark, of Pliskin not even taking into account his feelings before initiating this campaign of his… If it helps the mission, he'd do it without a single complaint, but he'd always appreciate a warning and a procedure sheet.
You don't do an experiment without a procedure sheet. That's just improper etiquette. Hal almost grits his teeth nervously as Pliskin stands and moves back, kicking his own chair away in the process. The doctor's hands fall down to his thighs, defeated. The lieutenant pulls his half-finished cigarette away from his lips, stubs it on the cheap table and crushes it without a pause.
“No,” He starts slowly, before turning back, eyes clear and determined. Pliskin closes the distance he'd put between them faster than he placed it, leaning down to meet the still sitting Hal's eye level.
“No, it wasn't for any of those reasons. I was doing it because I wanted to. Because…” He hesitates, but seeing the rapidly growing confusion on Hal's face only tells him he needs to be more direct.
“It's easier to say and do those things when I'm… Pliskin. Not Snake. Not… David.” He whispers, and suddenly something in Hal clicks. It makes sense, the same way Hal had hid behind the codename ‘Otacon’, to feel like a cool anime protagonist or to just pay homage to his lifelong love for the genre, that was up to debate. But he understands. The way living vicariously through another identity could feel much, much easier than the reality. The chance to reconstruct your personality. To fine-tune a perfectly good, yet old instrument.
Hal gets it.
So he leans in to press his lips to Pliskin's. The admission makes him heady, grounding the man in front of him down from the pedestal Hal unconsciously places him on. It makes him seem remarkably accessible, when he's not donning his sneaking suit and taking down entire companies single-handedly.
Pliskin instantly reciprocates the intimate touch, mouth moving against Hal's in a way that forces him back into his role of a nervous romance lead in an unfamiliar bar. He can almost imagine the different setting, trick himself into imagining the seat under him to be more plush, the intricate maps on the monitor to morph into bottles lining the walls.
He can still feel the microphone jab against his cheek. The doctor groans and leans back, reluctantly breaking the kiss, ignoring the displeased grunt from his partner in favor of taking off his own headphones.
“But- Otacon, what if…” Hal raises a hand to stop him, before raising the volume on the speakers enough to be heard if Raiden urgently needed to contact them, but not enough to pierce through their ears. Pliskin hums in approval, and takes off the headphones without any need for further convincing. Seems he's really been waiting for this chance. It almost makes Hal snort.
Pliskin’s hand soon returns to his thigh, hiking further up and forcing his blazer back against the chair, and Hal leans into the touch eagerly. There’s the smallest bit of guilt that they’re getting distracted during such an important task, but when the lieutenant’s knuckles brush against his crotch that thought slides right out of his mind, and the only pressing issue becomes the unwelcomed space between their bodies.
The doctor tugs the other man down insistently, and Pliskin follows the touch, letting Hal wrap his arms around his neck and tangle his left hand’s fingers in his hair. There’s no hesitation this time as he closes the gap between them, lips crashing in a way that suggests they’ve done this a hundred times before, two men so tuned to each other’s whims and instincts that it becomes easy to predict when one will push and the other will pull. Hurried kisses with no real intent morph into something more passionate - Hal doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this excited just from a tongue poking out to meet his own.
The lieutenant, however, doesn’t seem as satisfied as he is - a low grunt leaves him before he hooks both his hands under Hal’s thighs, heaving the smaller man up with barely any struggle. Hal can feel the other’s bulge rub against his from the action, and it rushes heat down to his length, forcing a twitch out of him. Pliskin, surprisingly, doesn’t comment or tease him about it, even though Hal was sure he would’ve felt the motion against his dick. Strange.
Hal realizes belatedly that their equipment is being shoved around. Pliskin clears a small part of his table - his keyboard is moved to the side roughly, and with it his pair of headphones. His monitor now faces the side opposite of him, and one of the speakers tumbles onto its side from where it was standing shakily upright. He can’t find it in himself to complain, though, as he’s lowered onto the cheap yet sturdy plastic and Pliskin grinds against him again, purposely this time, as if to let him feel it.
The lieutenant leans in, and Hal reaches up for a kiss. But Pliskin smirks, dodges his attempt and moves to kiss at his cheek, before breathing on the cusp of his ear. His voice is gravelly when he speaks, clearly affected by their tryst just as much as the doctor, if not more.
“Feel that, Otacon?” Hal groans as his partner carelessly grinds his bulge against him. “So hard for you, you get me like this.” Each word is accentuated by another rough grind, and soon Hal is moving back against him, panting. Pliskin somehow remains collected, a slight dusting of red on his cheeks from the exertion but nothing else, while Hal is twitching in his pants, steadily dripping from the stimulation.
The gap in pleasure shouldn’t get him this aroused. It really shouldn’t. So Hal makes up for it by bringing his hands down to unbutton the lieutenant’s pants.
“Let me thank you,” Hal begins, licking his lips. “Lieutenant Pliskin. For working with me on this mission despite how briefly we’ve known each other. It must be hard, trusting a man to lead the tech aspect when you hardly know him.”
Pliskin gives him a wolfish grin, clearly interested in the prospect of going along with Hal’s, for lack of a better term, roleplay. It’s not how he would’ve envisioned their first time under normal circumstances, but then again, when did the pair of them ever do anything normally? Hal supposes this is a fitting start for a hopeful relationship, or at the very least, a recurring series of enjoyable flings.
“Mm, go on then.” Soon as he gets the green light, Hal focuses on pulling the zipper down and shoving his partner’s pants until they pool around his ankles. When Pliskin makes no move to discard them properly, the doctor continues with his plan - he pulls back the elastic waistband of the other man’s and takes a breath as he grips Pliskin’s length with his other hand.
…Except he doesn’t feel flesh when his hand clasps around it. The familiar feeling of silicone in his palm brings his brain to a screeching halt, and he looks up at the lieutenant with a face that he hopes conveys his utter confusion.
Pliskin only groans like he forgot something, the blush from earlier deepening out of sheer embarrassment. He pushes down his boxers - Hal can’t help the way his mouth dries up at the sight of thick hair - and pries Hal’s fingers away from the object.
“Forgot to ask you if this is gonna be a problem. Got too into it.” He explains, almost sheepishly. Only when he pushes his boxers further down until they strain against his spreading thighs and takes out the packer does it click for the doctor, whose eyes widen at the realization.
He instantly shakes his head at the question when Pliskin’s t-dick comes into view, the previous obstruction now safely in the man’s hand and providing him with a sight to behold. He realizes that he has to vocalize his thoughts when he sees the lieutenant’s expression - almost nervous, a stark difference from his earlier confidence.
“No-” Hal pauses, forcing out a cough and gulping to restore the saliva in his mouth quickly. “No, it’s not a problem. At all. I just… didn’t know.” Come to think of it, he’s never seen the other man bare naked. David made a habit of walking around the house in his boxers, and Hal had slowly but surely gotten used to the sight of a broad, hairy chest standing in front of him with a clear outline of a length tucked carelessly to the left. Still, never naked, and therefore he’d never known.
It hurts him to think that the other man could’ve been worried about his reaction, and therefore hid it from him, but honestly considering his partner’s general reluctance to share things, coupled with his tendency to downplay the importance of things, topped off with the expression on his face as the reminder dawned on him, David probably just… forgot, or didn’t feel the need to bring it up.
Which is a nice thought in itself - that he was just so comfortable around Hal that he never felt like he needed to justify himself.
“Yeah, well. Not many know, believe me.” Pliskin chuckles, seemingly reinvigorated by the acceptance - no, by the desire in Hal’s expression, the way his fingers twitch with the need to touch, his eyes committing every bit to memory.
“Go ahead, explore. It’s different from your average cock, but it’s good enough.” Once the permission sets in Hal’s mind, he wastes no time putting his hands on the limited expanse of skin that the lieutenant exposed for him, hands ruffling the thick coils of hair on his thighs. His right hand slides over the skin, slowly reaching for the other man’s dick, which obviously throbs with anticipation. Hal hasn’t seen something like this, not even in the wide history of genres in porn that he’s had the luxury (or dismay) of laying his eyes on. The experience is exhilarating, leaving him panting as he grips the cock with his index and thumb, pumping it just as he would his own.
It wrings a low groan out of Pliskin, and an encouraging nod. He continues with the motion, watching as the lieutenant puts down his packer onto the table, indifferent to how unsanitary the action is. Somehow that forces a twitch out of Hal. He decides not to investigate the thought further, and instead focus his attention on the way Pliskin’s hips have begun to follow his movements.
Suddenly fingers wrap around his wrists, and his palms are pressed against the cool plastic of the table under him. Pliskin leans in closer and cages him in, before connecting their lips again, seemingly tired of the exploratory handjob he was receiving. He lets go of one of the doctor’s hands to trail up his thigh, and Hal notes with excitement that he’s finally beginning to unbutton his jeans, the zipper going down almost instantly after. The sound is almost deafening in the quiet, save for Hal’s beating pulse in his ears as the lieutenant pulls down his briefs and jeans in one go, exposing his length.
It’s Pliskin’s turn for surprise. He hums and trails into a chuckle, a classically seductive sound that has Hal’s length jumping. His partner catches it in a gloved palm, the cool leather an unfamiliar feeling against his heated cock. Pliskin strokes once, twice, rolling the foreskin up and down, coaxing precum out of the tip, smearing it. Hal wonders where he got the experience, since it clearly wasn’t on his own.
“Uncut,” Pliskin starts, and Hal chuckles nervously. “Didn’t expect that on you, doctor.”
“You’re saying that like you’ve been imagining it, lieutenant.” Hal teases. Pliskin’s eyes dart away, but a small smirk pulls at his lips, like he’s been caught red-handed.
“Guilty as charged.” His voice is breathier now, but a chuckle leaves him. “‘Least that makes one of us who didn’t get his dick sliced.”
The monotony of his voice drags a breathless laugh out of Hal, one that he immediately regrets as it ends with him moaning into the open air, loud enough that he instantly brings a palm to his mouth. The lieutenant clicks his tongue before his hand leaves Hal’s cock, to his utter displeasure.
“Volume could stand to be a little lower, Otacon.” Pliskin reminds him, before he steps back to pull off his boxers and pants, fiddling quickly with the pockets of the latter before laying them both over his designated chair. Hal huffs, standing up to do the same, stopped only by a hand on his chest, firm enough that he sits right back down without any argument.
Pliskin’s knees end up on either side of his thighs, and Hal has to fight not to faint as he feels the other man’s dick poke his own. This is it. The doctor’s hands rush to grip at his hips, before slowly lowering to his ass, pushing forwards a little - enough for Pliskin to feel the pressure, for him to react to it if he wanted to, ignore it if not.
Fortunately, Pliskin takes the hint, and he moves forward to rut his exposed cock to Hal’s, and - wow. Hal’s never felt such intense desire before, enough for him to act on his own and thrust up, the tips of his sneakers on the floor for leverage. Pliskin awards him with a grunt and another thrust, and soon they’re getting distracted again, exploring new sensations - or in Pliskin’s case, apparently reliving old ones, thrusts too calculated to be inexperienced in something like this.
“Have you- ah, done this before, Lieutenant Pliskin?” The man in question hums, accentuating the sound with another well-timed thrust to bring a groan out of both men. His knees part a little further as he sinks into the doctor’s lap more.
“Maybe I have, doctor,” He says, before pulling back Hal’s right hand from where it was comfortably on his ass and placing something in it. The doctor looks down to see a nondescript packet, but when he presses it between two fingers the purpose of it becomes obvious.
“Would that change your perception of me?” Pliskin sounds breathless as he watches Hal tear open the packet of lube carefully, watching his partner spread the substance over two fingers. Pliskin grips his wrist, and uses his index to move the lube onto a third. It sends a spark down Hal’s spine, but he nods, understanding the cue.
“Well…” Hal gives him a small smile, genuine as he shakes his head. “No, it wouldn't.”
His partner looks stricken. Good. It makes it all the better when he slips one lubricated finger inside and feels the muscles contract around it, Pliskin hissing at the intrusion but otherwise indifferent.
“Yeah?” He goads him on, hips urging him to move. Hal drags the finger in and out carefully, curling it when he's deep inside, pride blooming in his chest at the low moan that leaves the lieutenant.
“Of course it wouldn't. If anything… It really just makes you more attractive.” Honesty drips off his tongue enough to make Pliskin lean in to kiss him senseless, likely finding no other way to channel his affection for the displaced trust that the other man has in him. Hal takes that as his chance to slip in another finger, to feel the vibrations of his partner's moan in his mouth, enjoy the way his tongue stutters in its assault from the sudden feeling.
Pliskin breaks the kiss reluctantly, only to trail light, chaste kisses onto Hal's cheeks and lower, so frighteningly loving that it almost scares him, almost forces him to blurt out awkward questions that have no place to be said during sex. He saves the thoughts for later, when they have all the time in the world for questions. Right now there were more pressing needs.
The lieutenant's kisses turn to playful bites when he reaches Hal's pale neck, littering it with careless bruises and marks. Hal can feel the way he sucks hard at the skin, pulling it between his teeth just when he curls his fingers inside. Pliskin likes it, then.
“Ah- big fan of hickeys, lieutenant?” Hal asks, tone lighthearted as he tries to ignore the squelching noise coming from between his partner's legs, the hairs now wet and glistening where he can see them. Pliskin grunts as he finishes up another mark, and for a moment the doctor thinks he isn't going to respond further than that primal noise.
“I told Raiden I like to mark my territory,” His voice returns to that seductive lull that makes Hal dizzy. “I wasn't lying about that.”
Hal whines at the admission, not trusting his words to accurately portray the way his abdomen tightened at the thought of seeing blooming purples and blues arranged in the shape of a P, just like that box.
The doctor snaps himself out of his stupor and returns to thrusting the fingers inside Pliskin at a leisurely pace, separating the digits further apart to really stretch the man above him out. Groans and huffs leave him until he beckons the doctor to give him the third and last one, and soon his rare noises become more frequent as Hal's fingers reach deep enough for the experience to be insanely pleasurable.
“Been- hah, wanting your fingers in me for a while, doctor. Something about- hrrngh, the way you type, mm, makes me think.” Pliskin whispers against his ear, and Hal's gut flips with the sudden jolt of arousal that overwhelms him from the way he sounds. This broad hunk of a lieutenant, capable of taking down an entire facility in one night, and he's breathless and grunting just from Hal's three fingers.
Forgive him for enjoying the way this strokes his ego. Pliskin's hands scramble for purchase against the table, skimming over the tumbled speaker and keyboard and headphones in his haste, before both come to grip Hal’s still-clothed thighs, nails pressing dents into the fabric.
“Pliskin…” Hal grunts - he's patient, sure, but his dick is throbbing with barely any stimulation, and he can't hold out forever. His partner urges him to take his fingers out, sitting up fully on his knees, chest overtaking most of Hal's vision - not that he's complaining about the eyeful.
“Ready, doc?” He asks, out of courtesy. Hal nods so fast he has to adjust his glasses instantly after, which makes Pliskin bark out a laugh before his hands land on Hal's shoulders, and he slides down in one go.
Hal is immediately alarmed, a million questions and admonishments on the tip of his tongue, but Pliskin only needs to smirk at him in that flirtatious way of his for the words to dissipate before they form any coherent meaning. Instead, he moans at the sudden grip around his cock, and the way Pliskin's hands tighten their hold on his shoulders, no doubt creasing his already messy blazer.
Carelessly, Pliskin begins to move. Hal notes the way his thighs strain and his abdomen tightens as he slides up, and then down, a grunt leaving him with each motion. Pliskin grabs his hands, which were floating uselessly at his sides, and places them onto his body without hesitation, urging him to explore.
So Hal does as told, because he'd been taught it's rude to turn down gifts. His hands roam around the exposed skin and beyond - he slides his right hand under Pliskin's shirt, caressing the thick yet softer hair that lines his torso. He feels countless scars hidden by the curly fur, and almost sighs dreamily at the fact that such a strong man was riding him.
That sigh comes out as a moan that forces a laugh out of the lieutenant, and a faster pace.
“Finally getting- ah, into it, doctor?” He grins, but it falls just as quick as it came with another moan. Hal can't help it - he hadn't felt this good in years, his hands could never compare to the way Pliskin tightens around him on the upstroke, makes way for him when he sinks down. Melting for him.
It almost drives Hal mad. He does his best to meet the lieutenant’s speed with thrusts of his own, but without the proper leverage he's left completely under Pliskin's control. Moans leave him, coupled with the unmistakable sounds of the slap of skin on skin, reverberating around the small room they'd inhabited for the past several hours.
“Fuck- P-Pliskin, I-” A keen leaves him as he brings the other man closer, burying his face in his torso to compose himself. His gut stirs as Pliskin grips his jaw, forcing the doctor's nervous gaze to meet his unwavering one. Though his eyes are hazy, showing the clear extent of his enjoyment.
“Close, Otacon?” He asks, and Hal nods instantly. He chuckles lowly, before speeding up his pace, reveling in the panicked noises he drives out of his partner with each drop.
“Make me cum first.” There was an unspoken threat in his words, and despite Pliskin's appearance as a pleaser throughout this entire courting process, Snake's demanding side never failed to shine even during his performance. Hal nods as best as he can, and moves down to pump the other man's dick in tandem with the rhythm he'd set, enjoying the doubled frequency of moans that seemed to be his reward.
“Yeah, there- fuck, there you go, Otacon, there-!” It's the lieutenant's turn to let out a low keen, almost soundless. His expression twists as he grits his teeth, focusing all his energy on riding Hal properly to the end. Hal can barely focus, dizzy from the pleasure and the denial of his release, but he can tell that Pliskin was throbbing between his fingers, in need of an extra push.
“Please,” He croaks out, throat dry. “Please cum for me, David. Want it so bad.”
Pliskin's eyes widen in alarm, looking down at the other man who only gives him a half-hearted smile. A low, long groan leaves him as he sinks all the way down, pulsing and contracting around Hal's dick.
“Hal,” He whispers, only for his ears to hear the sweet sound of his name. Hal can't help it anymore.
“Ah, f-fuck, Snake, Snake!” He thrashes with the orgasm, thrusting mindlessly as much as he could in the limited space. Pliskin allows him, moans encouragingly into his ear, hand tugging at his overgrown hair and knocking his glasses askew.
He pants heavily in the aftermath, so does Pliskin, who laughs quietly to himself as the reality of what they did sets in. It takes Hal a little more to reboot, but when he does he realizes he'd slumped down to bury his face in the lieutenant’s chest, vest pockets poking uncomfortably at his cheek and neck.
“Wow,” was all he could say.
“Wow indeed,” Pliskin responds, a light-hearted smirk on his face. He moves up and lets Hal's softening length drop, and the doctor laments not being able to convince him to stay connected longer. Cum drips out slowly from the lieutenant's cunt onto the length below, and Hal has to take in a stuttering breath at the sight of it.
“Mm. Not bad.” Pliskin comments, before reaching for his pants and taking out a handful of tissues, wiping as much as he could, cleaning himself and then Hal up.
“Did you know this was gonna happen?” Hal says, eyes narrowing at his partner, who only shrugs innocently.
“Hoped for it.” His love for cryptic answers remains unchanged, Hal notes with a certain fondness one can only achieve after years of affection. The doctor sighs as he tucks himself back into his briefs and adjusts the monitor to face him again. He takes a look at the map, flips through the cameras idly, before looking at the bottom right.
Horror sets in, sinking his stomach.
An established codec call stares back at him emotionlessly. He turns to look at Pliskin's headphones, at the microphone which is most definitely turned on, given the circumstances.
With a shaky hand, he reaches out for his pair of headphones, putting them on and hesitating to activate the mic. Pliskin is pulling on his boxers when he looks back at the man curiously.
“Raiden just call or something?” He says nonchalantly, stuffing his packer back where it belonged before after wiping it down and adjusting it in his underwear. When he hears no response, he turns to face the doctor completely.
“Um. Hi, Raiden.” Hal says, humiliation burning him to his core.
“...Hey, Otacon. You okay over there?” The man, bless him, is clearly trying to put on his best neutral tone. It is failing.
“Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, we…” Hal doesn't even know what excuse to come up with, knowing Raiden probably heard most of what went down.
“Look. I've been trying to get back to your hideout. You sounded like you were getting beat up! Was Pliskin not there to help?”
What?
Hal instantly takes the opening, before laughing nervously. Pliskin finally understands his tone, turning to take his own pair. He looks ridiculous - his junk is barely adjusted properly, boxers half-pulled up and shirt rumpled, with his headphones on.
“I'm right here, Raiden. We're okay… you must've mistaken the voices in the movie we had on with Otacon’s.” He says, and Hal hits him in the arm, mouthing a question Pliskin can't catch. He only shrugs, expression only mildly concerned.
“A movie?” Raiden sounds incredulous, sighing before continuing his insistent questioning. “No, I could've sworn I heard Otacon yell ‘Snake’... there's no way there's snakes around here, right?” Raiden asks, and the lieutenant has to stifle a snort. Hal rushes to speak since Pliskin clearly only wanted to be unhelpful.
“Ah, maybe I did… we were watching Escape from New York - I'm sure you've seen it? The main character's name is Snake.” Thank all the gods above for his quick thinking and his memory's helpful encyclopedia of movies at his disposal.
“Oh… that adds up, then. Well, it's too late to turn back now - I'll be there in five. We could debrief?” Raiden suggests, and Pliskin looks in horror at the mess of tissues that he'd left, at the disorganized state of their equipment.
“Yeah, okay. See you in five, Raiden.” Pliskin hurries through the sentence, already fixing his packer with one hand and taking off the pair of headphones with the other.
“See y-” Hal cuts the call, double, triple checks the status of the codec, before jumping up to help Pliskin return everything to an acceptable state and then pulling up a trusty website for watching illegally uploaded movies, skipping to the later half of Escape from New York in his hurry to back up their alibi.
When they sit in their chairs and take the much needed time to breathe, Hal can't help but laugh at their predicament, inviting Pliskin to join in the relieved chuckling. Hal's heart is beating, blood pumping with adrenaline and fear, and yet he knows he'd go through this a hundred times over if it meant he gets to see his partner's pleasure like that again.
With Pliskin - no, David smiling at him like that, comfortable and trusting - maybe the thrill of almost being caught is worth it.