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stratcom-agent-kennedy‌

“Wha…? Oh!” And once more, Leon flushed, less from desire and grasping, groping need, than sheer, sheepish embarrassment. He lifted himself easily, tilting back onto the balls of his feet and then standing nimbly, wondering if he ought to offer Mike some help, or if the man wanted to do this on his own. This might be one of those things that would make their road together rough, but Leon had such a need for this man… he would figure it out—they would figure it out.

Together.

“Sorry about that—got kinda lost in your eyes,” he admitted, plucking at the waistband of his panties, hardly realizing the spectacle he was suddenly creating. Leon had gone from endearing and precious to someone’s fetish underwear model in the span of a few seconds and a small gesture.

Mike scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Alright, Fuck you, Kennedy. Now you’re doing it on purpose.” Not that he minded. Not even a little. Shit, Leon was fucking beautiful. And he knew it too. They guy was no dummy. Except maybe in that he was here with a fuckin weirdo like Mike. There he was, lying on the floor in his boxers, body all fucked up, one leg gone... And there was Leon, standing above him lookin like sex on wheels.

Shit.

That was some damn good incentive to get on up.

He sat up, deciding the prosthetic could stay off, so long as they stayed on the bed. Carefully, he stood up, balancing pretty good on his one leg, setting the prosthetic on a dresser nearby. Good. With that out of the way, he happily sat down at the edge of the bed, grabbing Leon’s hand, giving the man a tug.

“C’mere, ya gorgeous son of a bitch.”

#rp #stratcom agent kennedy

survivalspecialist

Christ above, did Mike really think he was fit for anything other than lying in bed? He was fresh outta surgery, he was going to put himself in hospital for longer if he strained himself and Leon hadn’t forgotten that the man’s other half was on his way. Looked like he was going to have to save the man from himself.

Not wanting to give away his position by reprimanding the guy he was trying to keep alive, but who seemed to be doing his damnedest to defy doctors’ orders, Leon remained quiet but concerned for the pilot’s well-being.

When the men entered though, Leon had to put him out of mind for the time being. Surging upwards from his crouch, Leon drove his knife up through the chin of the first man through the door who dropped like a stone as the agent yanked the knife free. Needing to take the fight away from wounded Mike, he stepped over the body to meet the other attackers outside the room, bloodied knife in hand.

“Three against one? Maybe you should wait for backup,” he quipped, glancing down the hallway to see it mostly empty, nurses having fled. He could only hope that the cops had been called to prevent more thugs from showing up because he didn’t want civilians getting hurt. They weren’t impressed by his taunt though and the trio moved in, trying to surround him, not that it would do them any good.

Mike wanted to jump out and join the fight but, Christ almighty, his stitches were so fucking fresh. At this point he just needed to stay out of the way. And he was going to, really. He totally planned to not get jumping in. But then one of those assholes stumbled back into the curtain Mike was hiding behind and he just. Swung the fucking crutch.

It hurt really fucking bad. He figured this is what those nurses had meant by ‘physical activity’ but he didn’t have time to see if the stitches had popped. He tugged the curtain out of the way, since his ‘hiding place’ was no longer exactly a secret. The guy he’d hit had fallen over, but was just a bit dazed. That was fine with Mike, since that left one guy left on his feet. Sooner they were all down, the sooner he could lie back down and get some goddamn rest. He was a cranky fella when he was tired, and especially cranky at being in pain.

And it was this reason his exhausted mind decided ‘what is the best way to remove a pest? Ah yes. Tackling.’

This was probably also a bad idea, but it was unexpected to both parties and succeeded in knocking the gun out of the man’s hands. Mike wasn’t looking for much. Just to get these guys out of his fucking room. Was he in pain? Absolutely. But in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still alive, which meant he couldn’t be dead weight.

#rp #survivalspecialist

paulsthomasanderson

Manchester by the Sea (2016)

#face #Mike Mike

survivalspecialist

Five hundred bucks down the drain was hard to swallow and Leon didn’t doubt that Mike earned far less than Leon himself did. It was a real shame about the leg though and it amazed him that even after everything he’d been through, Mike was still willing to risk situations like the one he was in right then.

Before he could continue the amicable chat about their job, he too heard the commotion down the hall and even as Mike spoke, Leon’s hand was on his knife as the sound of heavy footsteps neared Mike’s hospital room. So soon after the op, the pilot was absolutely not in any state to be taking on potential assailants.

“Too late to draw them away from you,” he muttered, unsure of whether they were there to finish Mike off, or Leon himself. Most likely the latter as the agent was better known than the pilot in the world of bioterror. Either way though, there was going to be a fight.

Standing and moving to crouch just inside the door, out of direct sight, Leon closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what they’d done to deserve a follow-up from their attackers. And then felt his blood run cold at the thought of how Mike’s other half could be on his way and about to walk into the middle of the shitstorm about to kick off.

Leon had to get the guys out of there, pronto and having spent all his ammo on taking out cars, he was going to have to do it only with a knife.

Taking a steady breath, he waited for their ‘guests’ to make their appearance.

“'N me with no pants on,” the pilot sighed, straining a bit as he sat up. No way he was staying down, even if he was in a hospital gown. This was gonna be a fight and he wasn’t going to be a sitting duck. He wasn’t exactly in prime condition either, but hey, he’d made it this far in life.

The pilot wheeled his IV stand into the corner with him, pulling the divider that separated his bed from the empty one next to him. Carefully, he grabbed his clothes from the nicely folded pile and starting tugging on his pants best he could. He knew he didn’t have much time, but at least his junk wouldn’t be hanging out when the baddies came a’ knockin.

And it wasn’t long before they did.

Mike watched them enter, looking from a crack in the curtain. He wasn’t exactly eager to jump into the fight, but he grabbed one of the crutches, holding it by the leg, and braced himself. He might be a little battered, but he wasn’t down yet.

#rp #survivalspecialist #HELLO I'M NOT DEAD #<3

Alright. Alright, I’m back. Im gonna try and be better and more on top. Sorry folks. But we’re gonna do the shit and get back into it. Lets go!!

#out of helicopters #I'M SORRY

stxveburnside

Steve took another sip of his drink with Mike’s fatherly comment. The man cared, but… Shit, it brought up bad memories of his own father, a vein or two pulsing green as the memories surged up, Steve taking a large swig, instead, frowning softly to himself. He’d need something stronger, like a whiskey, but for now, the reaction was at bay.

It must have been strange regardless to see someone like him, so young, actually near his 40s now. 17, forever. A dream of some, and a nightmare in reality. Still, the soft look of a kid did open some up to him, and maybe Mike was one of those few.

“Must be nice… Bein’ a normal guy, though…” he said softly, jealousy plain on his face as he shifted in his seat. “I could have given you pointers at one point, but those days just seem like a dream, now…” Hard to admit, but now was the time to open up.

Military had been Mike’s life, and to see him so bittersweet about leaving it was a little heart-wrenching, Steve staring into his cup for a minute before calling the bar-tender over. “Sounds like more than a beer occasion, doesn’t it? I mean… A toast to commemorate them with… This place has an amazing bourbon,” he offered, reaching into his pocket to dig out the cash he had. Getting drunk wasn’t his problem, but if Mike was going to, he might as well have the rich stuff.

Mike smiled, nodding gently. Steve was right. Steve was right about a lot of things, honestly. The guy had seen a LOT. Definitely more than Mike himself had. His own fucked up body felt damn normal after what he’d seen from Steve. But... Steve was also fucking resilient as hell. Mike... really admired that about the guy. He was still trying, even after all this time.

“Sounds good,” he agreed with a grin. “I could definitely use a glass.” A part of him nearly had a seizure at the sight of the money. He’d never been a rich man, very rarely spending large sums in one sitting. It was from his grandfather for sure. He wanted to refuse, but... Steve was too nice. It wouldn’t matter.

“I got tip,” he said, reaching into his own pocket. It was the least he could do without being completely useless. “Thanks... I appreciate it.” And he really did. As far as drinking buddies went, Steve was miles above. He was a good guy to be around, genuinely. Being around him was a relief. Someone who understood...

When the bartender brought them their drinks, Mike took a slight sip.

“Shit,” came the only possible response. “That’s... damn good. Good call, man.” With a solemn look, he raised the glass. “Ta... good memories... good people... and an even bettah future.”

#rp #stxveburnside

aboutcaseyaffleck

KVIFF

#face

stratcom-agent-kennedy

“Mike…” The word spilled from his somehow perfectly glossed lips with a breathless astonishment that might have taken the breath right out of a lesser man, but Mike was no amateur, no swooning romantic—well, maybe a little—and he, to Leon’s surprise, maintained earnest eye contact even after the statement. No matter how embarrassed the pilot might have been, he was dead serious and seemed determined to prove it to the agent, who was flushed deeper than if Mike had levied ugly, lewd insults at him. Those, he could take. But this? This might have been too much. Once again, Leon felt his eyes drop, unable to hold his friend’s gaze any longer.

“Guys like you and guys like me,” he began, “don’t usually… make it. I…” He breathed deeply. “I wanna make it, Mike.”

Some part of Leon, a much larger part than first anticipated, craved steadiness, stability, support, things he’d found in himself and, failing that, a bottle for years. Even when Adam was alive, there were parts of him that Leon kept hidden, just in case it scared the man off. Adam Benford had been made of sterner stuff and so, evidently, was Mike Linkowsky.

They were words. Simple words, but... they were so powerful, and so important. Out of everything, every perception and joke, every shit storm Leon had fought his way through, he wanted to make it. With Mike.

The pilot reached over, taking Leon’s hand in his own. He gave it a small squeeze just running his thumb over the man’s skin. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft, eyes smiling. “...I ain’t sayin it’s gonna be easy... It’ll probably suck a lot, honestly, but... If you want this, I sure fuhkin do.” His free hand reached up, cupping the side of the other man’s face, making that beautiful bastard look at him. “...Jesus Christ, Leon, if you wanna make this work... I think we could..."

He hadn’t expected this talk now, but... here they were, laying all this shit out. Guess there wasn’t any time to waste. They both knew how fickle lifespans could be in their line of work. Or... Leon’s work. Might as well get it out now.

“Either way... Imunna need ya ta get off me real quick,” he laughed. “I’m about to lose feeling in my last leg!”

#rp #stratcom agent kennedy #I love. these two. like a lot

survivalspecialist:

Dinner with the in-laws was something Mike was going to have to miss. He was definitely going to be stuck in hospital for at least a few days. Leon was lucky in that he could not only discharge himself if he felt like it (throwing his weight around as a government agent had its uses) and he’d not been hurt too bad. The shot that he’d taken hadn’t caused too much damage and once stitched up, he was on his way.

“Keep that up and you’ll make me blush flyboy,” he replied, gently swatting his leg through the blanket. “I do it so that no-one else has to, honestly,” he replied simply. “Might as well put my talents to good use.” He hadn’t had any choice about being trained but he did have a choice about where he applied those talents.

“I’m definitely insane though, there’s no question about that,” he joked, shaking his head ruefully. What sane person repeatedly put themselves through the shit he did? It was no wonder he drank so heavily. Technically, on painkillers for the hole in his side, he wasn’t allowed to drink.

“Just don’t go getting mixed up in my shit next time, hm? You should know by now that it doesn’t end well.”

“Eh. I dunno, aside from a hospital bill, I’d say we did a good job,” Mike said with a tired grin. “This shit’ll heal, I’ve had worse.” He tapped a hand on the prosthetic leg. “Lost my favorite tattoo in Spain. Five hundred bucks I ain’t gettin back. Busted shoulder’s a piece a cake.” Maybe they’d come out a little battered and bruised, but... the world was a little bit safer, right? That’s how this worked?

“...’m not afraid to jump in the shit if it’ll help you get out alive for another day,” he said with finality. Mike wasn’t the kind to be disuaded from doing what he believed in. And what he believed was that Leon was a good guy doing a good thing. If he could help... shit, he wasn’t gonna stay on his ass.

He would’ve said more, but the sounds of nurses shouting cut him off. Judging by the growing volume, they weren’t getting listened to. The bit that caught him was “You gentlemen aren’t allowed back here!”

Mike was paying very close attention now.

“...Think we might have some company,” he sighed.

#rp #survivalspecialist #Mike: and me without any pants or underwear

#face #good days

survivalspecialist:

Leon had never discovered the extent of Mike’s injuries before then and while he could have imagined just how bad the scarring would be, nothing could compare to the reality of it. It amazed him that Mike had lived at all and having that much scarring couldn’t be easy for him. That he had a prosthetic made sense but again, it wasn’t something the agent had considered before then. The pilot’s bravery and perseverance were incredible.

“I’m flattered that you think I’m attractive enough to be a model,” Leon replied, fluttering his eyelashes playfully. He did work out a lot though, that much was true at least.

He definitely knew the pain the man was in right then with his shoulder though and he winced sympathetically. “Got some stitches, the nurse was kind enough to clean and disinfect a few scrapes. She’ll kill me if I rip the stitches though so I hope you’re ready to plan my funeral.

“I called your other half by the way, let him know you’re in here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled Mike’s tags free, handing them back to him. “You’re probably gonna be stuck here a while to heal so I told him to bring you some things to make you more comfortable.”

“Augh.” The pilot buried his face in his hand. “We might need a double funeral, cuz Jack’s gonna kill me... We’re supposed ta be havin dinner with his parents tomorrow...”

How stupid little things like that seemed when his life had been on the line just a bit ago. Wasn’t he airforce? What the hell made him think he could do shit on the ground with a guy like Leon? That guy walked in dangerous shit all the time. That was probably the reason Mike hadn’t told his damn husband about this particular adventure...

“I dunno how you do this kinda thing like you do, man,” Mike sighed, looking at the agent. The guy looked a little rough, but not bad, not at all. Hell, Leon had seen way worse than a couple of assholes with guns in an open lot. He’d taken down way larger with way less.

“You’re probably insane, but damn... You’re a brave, tough mother fucker, that’s for sure... thanks for savin my life.”

#rp #survivalspecialist

stratcom-agent-kennedy:

Keep reading

“Know how you are? Tsch.” The pilot dropped his head, letting it lie against the floor. His hands settled on Leon’s thighs, just resting there, letting his eyes close for a moment.

#rp #nsfw ish?#stratcom agent kennedy

vaecordxa:

“Oh, FUCK yeah. Swear to God I fuckin’ will. Especially if they’re the metal ones.”

Hawker, with some difficulty, managed to arrange contact between her lips and the mouth of the bottle, at which point she, too, drained nearly half of it.

“Like…okay. Shitty pick-up lines are HILARIOUS. If you’re usin’ ‘em IRONICALLY. One of my less shitty exes and I used to do it all the time, kinda a stupid-ass contest every time we’d go out – we’d see who could come up with the worst one. But, honestly, if that’s your A game? Shiiiiiit.”

She shook her head slowly in something akin to disapproval, hazy eyes tracking someone she thought she recognized as they made their way across the bar. Oh, she missed her old crowd sometimes; even now she wished her GIRL GANG was here to meet Mike and trade stories and listen to her gush about Hellfire missiles, but new beginnings were worth that sort of longing. After all, it hadn’t been a permanent goodbye. They were still in touch – at least, the ones that MATTERED.

Abruptly, another thought flashed through her mind, and she changed the subject.

“You know what I fuckin’ want right now? Onion rings. This place got onion rings?”

“Fuhk, I hope so!!” Mike began grinning, looking up and down the bar for someone who actually worked here. It didn’t take much. Once he started waving, the young man acting as bartender came over, regarding Mike with a sweet smile. Before the guy could say anything the Pilot leaned forward so he wouldn’t have to shout. “Hey, ah... we was wundrin’ if ya guys got onion rings?”

“Yeah,” he said, happy to meet Mike’s level with a (significantly more sober grin), distinctly ignoring Sarah. “I can put in an order for you, if you’d like. Takes no time at all.”

Mike beamed, sitting up excitedly. “That would be fuhkin awesome. Ah, put it on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the guy said, giving Mike a wink before heading down the bar, flagging down a waiter to put in the order.

Mike himself was... stunned, in a word. He did not know what the Fuck just happened. He turned to Sarah, hoping there was some answer in her equally unsober head.

“You see that?” he asked, doing his best to be subtle as he pointed. “...Did he just...”

#rp #this is so stupid i"m haveing fun #vaecordxa

stratcom-agent-kennedy-deactiva

rightxtobexagod ind. Albert Wesker of Resident Evil

tyrant-chris-redfield ind. Chris Redfield of Resident Evil

//promo credit to @arrowbear

stxveburnside:

Steve was giving the drink a gentle sniff, huffing slightly. He’d never be a fan of alcohol, but it dulled pain, and his heightened senses for a time, looking back at Mike before giving him a gentle smile. He wasn’t familiar with the man until recently, when Leon had introduced them. Not that he minded. He needed all the friends he could get, in the end. “Ah, you know… The usual sneaking out of a l to have a drink night with a bud,” he replied, chuckling softly, yet to take a sip of his drink. Security had been hard to get through, this time, and it wasn’t going to be the last time, either. They were always cracking down more and more… “How are you doing, though? Any developments at home, or… New helicopter models you’ve flown?” he asked. One thing Mike and Steve had in common was aviation, even if flying a helicopter was different than flying planes.

“Be careful,” Mike said, raising his drink in Steve’s direction. “I like you. I don’t want ya gettin in so much trouble that you can’t get out at all, alright?” But that was veering a little close to parenting, which Mike tried not to do to anyone other than his own kid.

He took a sip from the drink, nodding best he could as he set it down. “Ah... yeah. Tryin to get a job closer to home... There’s a local airplane hanger. That’s been my best bet, but...” He bit a pained grin. “Civilian life... it’s a heck of a thing.” It was a rough transition, but so far he hadn’t completely failed at trying to be at least a mostly normal human being.

“Oh! I did get some news actually.” Setting the drink down, he gave a bitter smile. “The Bell UH-1′s are officially getting decommissioned. Buddy of mine still in the airforce let me know. Apparently, wasn’t much of the unit to get rid of in the first place, but...” He shrugged, trying to play like it didn’t matter. “I dunno. That was my unit... It’s a weird feelin.”

#ayyy no worries darlin #take ur time.#rp #stxveburnside

realprojectalice

My name is Alice, and this is my story.

Promo Template Credit

#Friend Promo

survivalspecialist:

No physical activity, yeah right. She wasn’t about to be sweet-talked into anything either but Leon was sure that he could charm her out of disembowelling him when the stitches inevitably tore. It wasn’t like he was trying to wind up in life-threatening situations. Most of the time.

He brightened when he was told that it was safe to visit Mike and followed the nurse to the private room Mike was being held in. At least there was some benefit to being an agent. The sight of him was something saddening though, hooked up to bloods for the transfusion and the scarring along his arms made Leon’s heart drop.

He knew the man was scarred but he’d never seen it and to know that it was there because of him; because he’d not paid enough attention and stopped the rocket-launching ganado, it made the guilt settle in his stomach like a lead weight. Nevertheless, Leon pasted on a smile and took a seat nearby.

“I hope I look even half as good in a hospital gown as you do, when it’s your turn to save my ass,” he joked, glad to see a little colour having returned to his friend’s cheeks. “Good to see that you’re gonna be alright though. I mean it.”

The pilot just groaned, waving Leon off with his non-sling set arm. It had been uncomfortable from the moment he’d woken up, both from the minor surgery he’d undergone and being so... exposed. Ever since the crash, he’d been a collection of scars and wounds, it felt like. Thank GOD he’d been wearing his helmet when he’d gone down, or his face would’ve been just as fucked up. He hadn’t shown the scars to anyone. Hell, he was pretty sure Leon hadn’t even known Mike had a prosthetic lower leg til now. Wasn’t something he advertised.

Leon didn’t seem to care much at least. Bless ‘em, that fuckin guy. Mike owed him way more than a drink after all this shit.

“I dunno, you in a hospital gown might finally level the fuckin’ playin’ field for those’ve us who ain’t goddamn models, Mr. Eight Pack,” he grumbled, his voice a little hoarse. “...My fuhkin shoulda feels like it got put in a shredda. Hurts.” It could’ve been way worse, for sure. He was glad he still had a functioning arm.

He shrugged, letting out a large sigh. “I’m made of patchwork. What else is new? ...You get yourself taken care of?”

#rp #survivalspecialist #Annnnnnnd start the danger timer....

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