LSKjalwkjefhaskljclasjknljkfasljkLJKHLjksfaj (Next Saturday)
I'm sorry guys -_-. I got really messed up for a couple months because the jackass doctor I went to for my chronic fatigue went college student = prescribe anti-depressants and kept me on them even when the side effects pretty much killed me (probably because I wasn't depressed). Finally I got fed up with snapping at my roommate for no reason and stopped taking them. The withdrawl symptoms lasted for months.
Anyway, due to my severe state of not being there the last couple chapters were less than stellar, and it took some time to get back on the horse. But I finally got there, so here's the fic.
The first five chapters didn't change much so far as plot goes, but there were a lot of organization issues and minor inconsistent things that added up to a big pile, so I fixed those. It should be a much smoother read. However, you don't have to read 1-5 over if you don't want to. As I said, the sequence of events is pretty much the same. However, 6 was changed drastically in both content and the fact that Hal's sections got pushed to 7, which is also up. So those needs reading.
So yeah, sorry for the sabbatical and the rewrite when the whole thing isn't even written yet. I promise I won't do it again. It shouldn't be a problem since I have the rest of it pretty well scripted in my head.
ANYWAY let's get on with this. If you do want to reread 1-5 they're up on my website right here. I didn't want to repost those since the changes were relatively minor so far as plot goes. 6 and 7 are below.
Title: Next Saturday
Chapter: 6/? .........Freefall
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Dave/Hal
Spoilers: MGS1 and MGS2
Summery: There's only so far two men can bend. What happens when they break?
The soldier refused to let the bright sun pull him from his sleep. He was lost in an indistinct dream with no real images or sounds, warm and comforting, and he wanted to stay there. He felt like he could let it all go because that soothing something would be there to catch him and put all the broken, bloody pieces back together.
He held onto the warmth.
"Mmmph," it said as it shifted.
Vaguely unsettled by this development, he pulled that presence tighter.
"Snaaaaaaake," came a familiar whining voice tinged with both fatigue and annoyance, "stop tryin' t'break my ribs. Go t'sleep. Need it. Both'a us."
Finally the fact that his warm soothing comfort was Otacon broke through the haze and brought with it a flood of memories rushing in like so much freezing water.
Tanker... RAY... all those Marines... Ocelot...
Liquid.
He tried to move, to do something. Less-than-strong fingers dug into his shoulders to keep him from moving.
"No. 'm not good at stitches. Gonna pull 'em out."
Dave found his tongue heavy and his throat dry.
"Been fading in an' out. Sleep more."
The suggestion was tempting. And it was warm. He could trust Otacon that much, couldn't he?
~~*~~
He felt like curling up in a cave until the world just went away. His leg hurt, his everything hurt, but mostly it was the fact that he couldn't go ten minutes without hearing someone talk about the damn tanker and the damn terrorists who just went around blowing everything up. He didn't do what he did to earn the public's praise so it didn't matter what they thought.
It shouldn't have mattered. But Snake, for all his strengths, was still only human. There was only so much one man could take.
His leg buckled halfway up the last flight of stairs to their crappy one-bedroom, his strangely red hair falling into his eyes as he sank to the steps. His leg hurt, his head hurt, he just hurt. No leads since the Tanker, no prospects, and even if there were any he wouldn't be able to sneak anywhere in his condition. The heavy limp would heal, he knew that, but it hadn't yet. It seemed like nothing was moving. He was still stuck in Shadow Moses, Liquid still taunting him, his own government still playing him for the fool he was.
He was brought back to the present by a warm hand on his shoulder and a pair of soft gray eyes filled with concern. Otacon didn't ask if Snake was okay, he didn't say anything, he just looked at the soldier with a sad half-smile. The black hair was out of place, wrong, but those gray eyes were the same ones that found him in Alaska when he'd hit bottom.
Still silent, Otacon hesitantly wrapped his arm around Snake's waist. The soldier's pride scoffed at the gesture; he still had a bit of a limp but he could walk without help. The soldier's sense recoiled; he couldn't let himself care about his associate. Just showing his interest in Meryl at Shadow Moses led her to Ocelot's cruel hands. She was at least a fellow soldier, if a rookie. If Philanthropy's enemies discovered that the frail, weak programmer could be used against Snake...
That's not fair, he's come so far since I first found him cowering in that locker. And while he might be a skinny, gangly nerd, he's strong. He's got more conviction than I could ever hope to have.
Otacon was still waiting for some sign that his help was wanted or rejected.
...It's too late, isn't it? Even drugged and feverish I'd never be able to sleep that deep and that peacefully with someone else in the bed if I didn't trust them. I trust Otacon with more than my life.
With a defeated sigh Snake laid his arm across Otacon's back, braced his free hand on the handrail, and started to stand. The hacker scrambled to get to his feet first and shouldered as much of the soldier's weight as he could, which wasn't that much. However, it wasn't the physical support that mattered. Snake could lean on his analyst, his hacker, his partner, and it would be okay. Otacon wouldn't take it as a sign of weakness.
They climbed the steps and the hacker broke the silence, launching into an extensive review of the last episode of something-or-other-anime to come on TV. Snake rolled his eyes even as the tension faded.
God help me; my best friend is an 'otaku.'
~~*~~
Coward.
David stepped on the subway and grabbed a free pole as the train jerked to a start. The mission always came first. The mission had to come first. Years ago when he finally gave in to temptation and called Otacon his friend, called him Hal, he promised himself that. Too much was riding on them for their relationship to get in the way of the job no one else would do.
After he woke, roused by some internal clock counting down to zero hour, he stared at Hal for several long minutes. The other man was lying on his back, one hand resting on the pillow by his turned head and the other laid across his stomach, the T-shirt pushed up to reveal pale undefined abs and the trail of hair that led down under the sheets, just barely covering his hips...
If it was other morning and Dave would memorize the tantalizing sight before shaking Hal awake and telling his partner he was leaving. Any other morning and the hacker would sleepily yawn, mumble some affirmation, and then fall back to the pillows. The soldier would smile before putting his game face on and leaving for whatever supportless mission he had that day.
It wasn't any other morning.
Hal's neck was peppered with dark marks made by teeth and suction. His lips still looked kiss-swollen. Were there five-fingered bruises hidden under the sheets? Was the hacker sore? How much would he hate his partner?
And so the soldier silently slipped out of the bed, found his pants thrown over by the wall--David's blood froze when he heard an indistinct noise coming from the window--scooped them up, and then went to his own room. He threw on some clean clothes and grabbed the bodyspray he never used--just wet heat and firm pressure--and then he fled the apartment.
If he had to see those gray eyes, the same eyes that looked at him so kindly in that stairwell, the same eyes that looked at him so intensely from between his legs, if he had to look into those amazing gray eyes...
I'd have stayed. I would have stayed and missed the meeting with the first real lead we've had since Big Shell. I'd have put him before the mission. I swore I'd never abandon the mission, even for his sake. It's how it has to be.
Still, he heard that word whispered.
Coward.
~~*~~
From that moment in the stairwell it was all downhill.
Four months later and they were on an old, worn couch, watching some disgustingly sweet romance movie, drunker than hell.
"Oh no oh no," Otacon said, waving hopelessly at the screen, "oh no, she's gonna cry'gain."
Snake laughed and reached for the whiskey, missing once. He wasn't quite as trashed as his partner in crime, but he was getting there.
"I thought you liked sappy shit like this?"
"Pfft," the hacker replied, crossing his eyes to watch his ragged bangs puff upwards, "not this bad. This's bad. Just..."
The soldier returned the cinnamon schnapps to his partner's hands. "Bad?"
Otacon tried very hard to glare before taking another shot. "Shu'up." He waved again, face screwed up in concentration as he searched for the right words. "'S not... 's not..." He was too far gone to say what he was trying to say. Snake laughed, full throated, free, unthinking.
Otacon, drunk as he was, seemed to understand how important that laugh was. He smiled, tried to put a hand on the soldier's arm, missed, and joined in the laughter.
~~*~~
When he stepped off the final bus he forced all his self-loathing and disjointed memories into the back of his mind. He had to be Snake for this, the unflappable steadfast soldier, not the man who just screwed up the best thing that ever happened to him.
It was a short, professional meeting, a simple exchange of information between two members of the underworld. In minutes it was done and that focus slipped away. By the time he shuffled into the first bus that came along it was all back to a full rolling boil.
~~*~~
He stared up at the old brick building, at the fire escape and the window that he'd burst through the night before. He still had no idea what he would say to his partner. Sorry, it wasn't supposed to be like that, I've been dreaming of you, I care about you so much it scares me-- nothing seemed quite right. Nothing seemed even close to right.
In his hand he held a frappuccino from Starbucks, loaded down with chocolate syrup, caramel, and three shots of almond. After one mission that didn't end in catastrophe they treated themselves to real coffee, far too expensive for everyday. Dave rolled his eyes at the amount of sugar going into the hacker's cup and teased him about it for over a week.
What happened to talking to him like that? It's like we're strangers again. He looked down at the frozen peace offering and tried not to imagine all the ways this could go worse than it already was.
Stop being a coward. Go in there and face him. You owe him that much and a hell of a lot more. You owe him a time machine.
~~*~~
David knew this time that his warm, safe comfort was Hal, his Hal, and so he didn't squeeze too hard. Hal had grown to like physical contact from his partner but he didn't like being smothered. So Dave ran his hand gently up and down Hal's back, the other tangled loosely in the hacker's hair, his face nestled into the juncture of shoulder and neck. Dave could feel his partner breathing, feel his steady heartbeat, and it helped to keep him steady.
Hal was the soldier's rock.
He was David's tether.
He was what made a weapon human.
A soft sigh escaped the hacker's lips, still sleeping, and Dave smiled. He started rubbing his partner's shoulders with a firmer touch, working out the lingering tenseness that Hal always carried. Another sigh that was almost a whimper. Dave kept massaging those muscles at that awkward angle, unwilling to leave his partner's arms, unwilling to break the chest to chest contact, unwilling to detangle their legs. There was the hacker's tender throat literally right in front of David's nose, and at the next sighing whimper he gave into the temptation to taste.
He trailed light open-mouthed kisses along Hal's jugular. The hands resting lightly on Dave's arms clenched up as the hacker shivered. Dave took that as encouragement and kissed a little lower, nearing the collarbone, barely suppressing the urge to suck on the spots that made his partner squirm. Hal wouldn't want marks on his neck.
As those soft noises continued David found his resolve weakening, until finally he decided that the tiniest bit of suction couldn't hurt, that spot just under the collarbone wouldn't be visible if he did get carried away, just a little, just a taste--
And then Hal was thrashing, fighting, and Dave let go at the unexpected movement and finally opened his eyes. The room was too bright for twilight, too blurry for reality, the colors somehow just barely wrong. He fought with heavy limbs to touch Hal's shoulders, Hal's hair, fought with his tongue and throat to say words of comfort.
"Ha... Hal. Don't... I'm here." It was the only truth he could offer. "I'm here."
It took a minute, or maybe an hour, for the panicked movements to slow to a distressed stillness. Hal was lying flat on his back, one arm flung to the side and the other wrapped tightly around his stomach, legs tangled in the sheets. David was propped up on his side, his weight braced on his elbow while he stroked the hair from his partner's face.
Grey eyes opened, full of the deeply rooted pain the hacker normally hid so well. He breathed slowly and deliberately for a few moments before smiling unconvincingly and reaching up to touch his partner's face.
"Dave..." the programmer swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, "I... it's okay."
"What happened?" the soldier asked, vaguely aware that he was heavily drugged, fighting to keep his focus long enough to find out what hurt his partner so he could take care of it.
"It's... it's just..." a deep, searching look, and a resigned sigh. "It was about Julie. For a minute there it was like I could... feel her kissing my neck," a barely suppressed shudder, and a comforting smile. "It was just a dream. I'm okay, Dave."
The arm supporting the soldier's weight buckled and he rolled onto his back. There was a genuinely amused chuckle, tainted by the dark shadow that still hung over their bed. Hal rolled to his side, their positions reversed, and brushed David's bangs out of green eyes.
"Sorry I woke you. You really need to sleep this off..." something toxic, a rotten lead picked from Arsenal's corpse. "Good night, Dave."
Hal got up to splash his face with cold water, fight away the memory that still had her claws sunk into his soul. He didn't notice the way David was staring up at the ceiling, his expression as shell-shocked and self-loathing as he could manage in his half-conscious state.
Four days after Big Shell. Four days after that reminder of what that bitch did to him and I... I triggered the worst nightmare I've ever seen him have.
By the time Hal got back, the drugs and exhaustion had already dragged the soldier back into unconsciousness.
~~*~~
Wandering down an alley, stumbling upon a grimy third rate bar, thinking a stiff drink could only help at this point. Still kicking himself raw for that slip in control, the nightmare, the pain he cause his partner because he couldn't control his hormones with that drug running through his veins. An arched eyebrow, an invitation, the thought that maybe if he just let off a little pressure then maybe he wouldn't slip again, maybe he could forget what he felt, maybe...
~~*~~
No matter how many times he was drugged or concussed or electrocuted, all the sayings and mantras Fox taught remained clear in David's mind. Underestimation is your greatest ally and most dangerous foe, save the damsels but beware the witches, dozens of phrases that came to the surface when he needed some guidance.
He quietly put the frappuccino in the refrigerator.
In a diplomatic situation, it's better for a soldier to be dead wrong than to appear uncertain.
He liked Hal. Wanted Hal. Things were screwed up. Some conclusion had to be reached if they were going to continue working together. And he liked Hal.
David decided to go in there, get an idea of how his partner was feeling, and then tell him. About the dreams, the stolen touches, all of it. Whether the result was good or bad, Hal deserved the truth.
The hacker's door was half open; Dave could see him stretched out on his stomach, face turned towards the window. The sheets were a different color than the night before and Dave was reminded of how much he needed a shower. He pushed that out of his mind and focused on the minute rise and fall of his partner's shoulders. He guessed that Hal was asleep, confirmed after he crept to the other side of the bed. Unwilling to put this conversation off any longer than he had to, but equally unwilling to wake Hal from his much deserved rest, David sat down with his back against the window frame.
He waited with his eyes closed, on the edge of meditating, trying to block out the sight of Hal lying there with a look somewhere between conflicted and content. He knew that was just how the hacker looked when he slept, perpetually stuck between optimism and reality, but it was still another cake of salt in the wound. Hal had been through so much. He didn't need this.
The clock read 12:47 when the programmer began to stir, a little more than twelve house since everything fell apart.
That was all it took for the soldier's resolve to crumble.
Title: Next Saturday
Chapter: 7/?.........Drowning
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Dave/Hal
Spoilers: MGS1 and MGS2
Summery: There's only so far two men can bend. What happens when they break?
Otacon wasn’t really surprised when the sight of Snake started making him blush. In Shadow Moses he was distracted with both the looming threat of death and Sniper Wolf, but on the other side of Alaska it was impossible not to notice how incredibly attractive the soldier was. Especially when he was working out. Shirtless. All the time.
Luckily the hacker had a lot of practice in burying his hopeless crushes. Snake wasn’t the first person he worked with who sparked his interest. It was almost as if the others were practice for this, after all, he couldn’t just transfer to another department if things got to uncomfortable. So he just tried very hard not to drool when Snake was being unbearably sexy.
As time wore on the crush got a little easier to ignore. After all, Snake spent a lot of time between missions working out and it was impossible to avoid him. Eventually the sight of those toned abs was old news. Well, not entirely, but it stopped turning him into a stuttering fool. For two years Otacon continued like that, perfectly fine and as in control as he could be.
Then came the Tanker.
Pulling the soldier out of the freezing harbor, forcing the water out of his lungs and frantically checking for a pulse… it was the first time Otacon really understood that Snake was still human. The worry was unbearable, and even after the pneumonia faded away the soldier was still in harm’s way. All the betrayal just added up to be too much. Snake started giving up, and it was up to Otacon to pull him back to the fight, remind him of what they were fighting for. He didn't know how to do that without sounding self-righteous, so he just tried to be a friend, shoulder some of the weight if Snake would let him.
He was surprised when the soldier did, when he accepted Otacon's help in the stairwell. As an unintended side effect it put a crack in the wall of professionalism that they both built around themselves. That was when they started moving towards being friends instead of just working partners. It was... nice, knowing that Snake depended on him for reasons other than his programming and engineering skills.
He could never tell if it was wishful thinking or if he was reading the other man correctly, but he thought he could see the same thing in Snake. That he was glad to be useful for more than just seek and destroy, being a friend made him more than a mindless weapon. At least, Otacon hoped that Snake felt that way.
~~*~~
-Gone to meet the contact. I'll be home in four hours-
One and a half for hopping busses and subways to the meeting place. Thirty minutes for lying in wait. Five minutes for the exchange. The rest for more bus hopping and dodging to cover the route back. No radio, no codec, no contact. It didn't matter if the hacker was awake or asleep for this one.
Hal brushed his fingers against the ripped piece of paper lying on the nightstand by the clock. The glowing red numbers of the clock seemed to taunt him, and the irritating sunlight streaming in just made his head hurt.
“It was just a dream,” he said to no one. “Just a really vivid dream.”
When he moved to get out of bed, pain shot up his spine and he fell back to the sheets.
“Oh god,” he whimpered. “Oh god oh god… what have I done?”
~~*~~
He was laid out on a mountain of soft pillows, pale legs spread wide as that hard body moved into position. Slick fingers pushing, that blunt pressure, and then it hurt but the first time was supposed to, right?
"Oh, baby," his boyfriend--lover--breathed as he slid forward, "Emmerich, you're so fucking tight."
And it was perfect because he didn't want his first name gasped, not so few months since the last time with.... but he couldn't think about her. It was over, done, he ran away from that, from what he used to be. Now he was wrapped up in strong masculine arms, firm kisses bordering on too hard, thrusts jerky and fast and it was different. It would be different with his boyfriend.
"Please!" and he didn't know what he was asking for. The older man adjusted the programmer's hips and legs before claiming him again, even harder, even deeper, and then there was something and he thought it was a fanfic myth but it wasn't--
Light exploded behind his eyes and he arched off the bed as that sensitive spot was brushed, a long, keening moan tearing its way out of his throat. He fell back to the pillows, suddenly exhausted, but then there was that intense pleasure-pain again and he tensed again, and again, and finally the cries turned to screams as he was hit by the most intense orgasm he'd ever experienced.
With the fireworks came the tears, slowly rolling down his skin to help the sweat wet his hair. He was so worried that the touches would trigger a waking nightmare, but they didn't. He could enjoy sex.
His boyfriend kept thrusting into his spasming body, and through the overwhelming sense of relief he felt a twinge of embarrassment at how quickly he finished. He watched the older man, memorized the way he moved, took in the sight of his own body being taken, being claimed so erotically. He already came once in the shower that morning, and then when he got back from class his lover pinned him to the couch and jerked him off before dragging him into the bedroom, so there was no way he could go again. Still he moaned and felt the slightest twitch in his groin when his lover came inside of him, filling him in a different sense, the feeling beyond weird but it didn't matter. He was wanted. He was loved.
Spent, his boyfriend collapsed on top of him, breathing hard a moment before rolling over onto his side. He wanted so much to be held, kissed tenderly, but he bit his tongue and held it inside. They'd already talked about clinginess. He didn't want to be a dumb virgin after finally making love.
"Were you crying?"
There was part of him that thought that his boyfriend could have been a little more romantic than that, but he squashed it. "I... maybe a little?" Emmerich said as he self-consciously wiped the lingering wetness off his face with the back of his hand.
"Hmph. Was I that bad?"
There was an annoyed aspect to his lover's tone. He scrambled for words and for the older man's hand.
"No no no... it was just...." he smiled warmly, gratefully, and kissed his boyfriend's cheek, "It was intense." The other man looked unimpressed and the icy tendrils of dread started crawling up Emmerich's spine. "It's me, I'm just not used to something so good!" and he kept talking, saying anything, making any excuse, just so his lover would stay, just so he wouldn't be alone with his dreams...
After an agonizing eternity there was a quirked eyebrow and he was allowed to kiss his lover again. He drank it in as a wave of relief washed over him once more.
"Next time we're going to have to get you a gag, Emmerich."
The programmer started at the unexpected words and then nervously puzzled over their meaning. Did his lover have a thing for gags? He felt he could probably work though the way a little light bondage would surely make him feel trapped, but he wasn't really sure...
"You scream like a fifteen-year-old Catholic schoolgirl getting screwed for the first time. I don't need the neighbors finding out I'm banging jailbait in here."
"I'm almost seventeen..." the programmer said with a touch of pout even as he turned bright red from embarrassment. He knew he was being vocal about how good his lover was making him feel, but he didn't realize he was that being that bad. "I just... I love you, and you make me feel better than anyone else ever has."
"I know that. Next time, try to keep your mouth shut."
He felt incensed at his lover's tone but made no rebuttal. It was harsh, but it was the truth. They couldn't let anyone know until he was of technical legal age. The nine year difference didn't mean anything to them; it wasn't as though college-student-Emmerich was mentally a child. Besides, they loved each other and that's all that really mattered. But the world had its rules and they had to follow them even if they didn't really apply to their relationship.
Besides, he was good enough to earn suggestions for next time. No matter how blunt his boyfriend was, he knew in his heart that the tenderness was under the world-weary mask the older man had to don for daily life. They were still okay. They would be all right.
~~*~~
Hal winced his way out from under the covers and to the bathroom. He went about the usual necessary morning-after tasks feeling tired and detached.
Like I'm just another Saturday.
Like he's just another stranger.
Just like it used to be. Just like it always was.
~~*~~
Emmerich slipped into the apartment as quietly as he could, just in case the older man was home early. He wanted to surprise his lover. He had all the necessary... adult supplies tucked away in his backpack, along with a few candles and a bottle of Svedka he'd obtained with the help of a classmate. At two months 'til eighteen he could fool someone long enough to buy condoms, but he couldn't hope to pass for drinking age.
He had it all planned out. He'd keep an eye on the street and once his lover's car pulled up he'd light the candles he brought with him. The vodka would already be in a bucket of ice and a glass would be standing by, right next to the lube, massage oil, and a towel for cleanup. When the older man opened his bedroom door Otacon would already be spread out on the bed, completely naked. He'd beckon his lover closer, pour him a drink, and then massage away the stress of the day.
Emmerich smiled warmly to himself, leaning against the front door and fighting the urge to slide to the floor in knee-wobbling happiness.
A year. We've been together a year.
He shook off the fluffy floaty feeling and moved to the kitchen. He put the vodka in the freezer and the strawberries and whipped cream in the fridge. He always wanted to try out that particular kink, but his lover was more the straightforward sex type. Unless he was tying his lover's wrists to the bedposts and gagging him. However, the young hacker was sure that he could convince his boyfriend to take part in some slow, sweet lovemaking after the night he had planned for them.
He was just closing the refrigerator door when he heard a sharp cry from the bedroom. He'd never been a brave boy, but at the thought of his lover being hurt he forgot all his fear, bolted from the kitchen, and threw open the bedroom door.
His heart stopped.
~~*~~
Hal limped back to his room, pulled on a pair of shorts, and fell into bed. He looked at the note and looked away, his eyes landing on the pillow Dave had slept on. Feeling weak and useless he hugged it to his chest, breathing in the lingering traces of the soldier's scent. He'd brushed his teeth twice but he still imagined he could taste that metallic salty tang on his tongue. He could feel the bruises on his wrists and on his hips.
I was right. He fought down a laugh that he knew would turn hysterical. He curled up as much as the pain would allow. I was right.
~~*~~
He abandoned his surname, tossed it away into the void as he had his first name. Both were tainted by someone whispering them in his ear like all the other lies. I'll never hurt you, I'll take care of you, I love you... none of it was ever true. He was just to dense and too desperate to see until that day. He had a new name now, one that he wouldn't let anyone touch.
Otacon shut his eyes and downed another shot, hoping to drown out the image of his boyfriend on the bed hovering over a teenage boy. He laughed, amazed that his young lover was that stupid. Did he really think it was forever?
Only two things you're good at, Emmerich, the man said with a sneer, never ceasing his thrusts. Numbers is one. Being a good brainless screw is the other.
He left college for a semester and wandered the country via Greyhound. He found a college that could almost challenge him in a city that wasn't tainted with bad memories and threw himself into his studies.
It was by accident that he found the club, stumbling through the ineffective directions to Radio Shack given to him by a classmate. He could feel the beat of the music in his bones even from outside, like a throbbing heartbeat of the building itself. He stood for a few minutes, watching the bouncer check IDs, wondering why a club was in the abandoned warehouse district.
Curiosity lead him back there a month later, dressed in jeans a size too small and a skintight black tank top. he felt subconscious standing in line, the patrons eyeing the newcomer with mixed expressions. The bouncer scrutinized him and his ID for a long time before snapping on the 'allowed to drink' wristband and sending him in.
When the bartender asked his name he fumbled, both because he wasn't sure if it was safe to give his real name and the fact he hated both Hal and Emmerich.
"Otakon," was the first thing he thought of, thinking of the last anime convention he'd been to. He immediately started mentally kicking himself because could he have possibly picked a geekier name? But the bartender didn't even raise an eyebrow, just took his order and handed him his drink, so he figured it was okay. He probably had no idea what Otakon was anyway.
He left after an hour, never leaving the bar due to nervousness. The bartender handed him his receipt with 'Otacon' scrawled across it and said to give it to the bouncer so he could put the name on the list. And he figured, hey, why not? And from then on his name was Otacon.
On his next visit he went straight to the bar, intent on downing a few shots and getting loosened up enough to actually do something. He was on his third straight shot of whiskey when a warm hand slid across the small of his back. He spun around, sloshing his drink down his arm, to face a man his age standing there with a definite invitation in his eyes. Otacon actually looked at the dancefloor and suddenly realized why the club was in the middle of nowhere: so guys could dance with guys and girls could dance with girls.
The was a lump in his throat when he looked back at the man who still had a hand on his hip. In the future Otacon would recall no details about how he looked, aside from the fact that he was handsome, but he would always remember that voice and those words.
"You've got the look of someone who's been dropped, and I know how that is, so I just want to say this now. I'm not looking for love and I'm not looking for forever. I'm just looking for a dance, and maybe a little more if you're willing. No strings, no lies. How about it?"
No lies. That's what got Otacon. That's what lead him to the stranger's apartment and to his bed. In the morning the man thanked him for a good night, made him some toast and eggs, and drove him back to the dorm. It was a completely honest relationship.
In the months and years that followed, Otacon worked hard at his classes and had quite a few honest relationships. Only two things he was good at, and he was good at both of them.
The string of one-night stands did end, and end abruptly, after a terrifying week of waiting for the test results and reading up on the effects AIDS could have on the human body. After that he threw everything he had and then some into his work, no distractions, no life, no world except the numbers and calculations.
~~*~~
"Mnph..." Hal did not want to face the daylight again. Even after changing the sheets and liberally spraying the room with air freshener he imagined he could still smell the sex. Dave. The soldier was probably back and that was a confrontation he didn't even know if he wanted or dreaded. He had a feeling that the near eerie calm that set in after he stopped crying was going to go up like a powder keg the second he saw his partner.
He blinked away the sleep and was surprisingly not surprised to see David sitting against the wall.
"Morning," he mumbled automatically, almost as if it was any other day. He wanted it to be any other day. He wanted to throw something and watch it shatter. He wanted to throw Dave against the wall and kiss him breathless. Too many choices. He felt numb.
Hal sat up and groggily rubbed at his eyes, reached for his glasses, and then the two men sat in an oppressively uncomfortable silence for a while. David was the first to break it.
"Hal..." The soldier faltered, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. Hal forced himself to keep his eyes on the wall. "I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have forced myself on you."
It was precisely the wrong thing to say.
The latent anger and resentment ignited. It was less the explosive crack of gunpowder and more the bright, steady, poisonous burn of a flaming oil derrick. All the self-loathing, all the second guessing, all the doubt about whether anyone could ever know about Julie and still love him like nothing was wrong... it all burned.
Hal stood up and started yelling, the complex interconnected web of his thoughts coming out as disjointed jumble of words. The important things, like how Hal knew that if he ever said stop Dave would comply, never made it near the front of the line. He could make his own choices and last night was one of them, never heard. How much he loved his partner, not even close.
Above all, he couldn't believe that his best friend, his savior, his David was dragging himself down to Julie's level. That his partner could ever rate the night before, however screwed up, in the same category as what his stepmother did to him, or his first boyfriend. That the man who gave Hal the strength to find his own self-worth thought himself so low.
So he yelled.
NOTE: because it requires re-edits I'm going to stop linking to all the chapters in my posts, so you'll have to go to the fandom masterlist in my memories to get to those in the future. I'll post a link in each post from now on.