#foxdied

[bastardsunlight]

"Hhrrn... Fellas, is it gay for your best friend to tell you how gay you probably are?"

[bastardsunlight]

Snake, when did you realize you loved Otacon?

His instinct to go to the CODEC for this is strong, but he resists, because the one person he might call, the one he knows will always be there to answer him, frequency 141.12 or, alternatively 140.96, would have no way of knowing this most important of answers. 

“Hnn... I don’t know, not for sure.” His lips purse in contemplation, brows knitting at the center of his forehead, affecting deep thought. It hadn’t been one point in time, but many, converging into a conversation that ultimately led them to each other, as all conversations inevitably did when one was truly, madly, deeply in love. 

He recalls distinctly, however, the moment that Hal “Otacon” Emmerich had wrapped his shivering arms around his waist, leaning heavily upon him to fight off the Alaskan chill as they escaped Shadow Moses. Otacon had asked him a strange, yet illuminating question and Snake’s entire world had tilted on its axis. He explains this as best he can. “And then suddenly, he was my axis.” 

As if it is a simple thing. 

[bastardsunlight]

(Smooch meme) Otacon pressed his lips to the corner of Snake's mouth, something of a parting gift before Philanthropy's next endeavor. "Make it back in one piece for the rest. I'm counting on you, Snake." An earnest smile touches his lips, his hand on the man's shoulder.

Words did not usually fail the gruff-looking mercenary. Despite his appearance, Solid Snake was an eloquent man, maybe even loquacious, a fact that likely had not escaped Otacon, who seemed amused at the redness blooming high on his cheeks. 

“Hhrn,” he grunted, his voice soft in that way it only took on when speaking to the engineer, “okay...”

come into me inbox and kiss me muse for any reason

[bastardsunlight]

☆ Otacon @ Snake

Grooming, brushing, or tending to their hair //Hhhhh you’ve got it~

It is not downtime, so much as a pause, the intake of breath between hoarse, sometimes bloody exhalations. Snake is going over the blueprints of a new Metal Gear. The organization which owns these incidious things has already begun to produce them regularly and deactivation is up close and personal. It is not his ideal, but Philanthropy rarely has the option. As he sits on the ottoman near the sofa of their newest rental—this one is a bit less rat-infested than the last—he feels, suddenly, hands upon the sides of his head, fingers curling into his thick, brunet hair, and nails softly scraping along his scalp.

“Hnn… Otacon,” he murmurs, grip upon the schematics slipping ever-so-subtly, shoulders sagging with relief of tension. His hand rises to stop the action, but Snake cannot complete it. Those fingers on his scalp feel too damn good.

Acts of Affection

[bastardsunlight]

Snake, how do you respond to the promiscuous assumptions people have about you?

"Hh... promiscuous assumptions...?" It is evident by the baffled look on his face that he has not heard these things. Depressing the call button on his CODEC, he sends an alert to frequency 141.12.

[bastardsunlight]

Snake, tell us how you feel about Otacon

“Otacon... hn...” The name spills from Snake’s wide mouth easily; he is accustomed to speaking it, in low tones and soft tones and any tone for which an occasion may call. “He’s... everything I’ve ever fought for... in one person. I’m... lucky--no... fated to have met him. We belong together. 

“I love him.”

[bastardsunlight]

[Snake]: Roses are red, violets are blue, oatmeal's dummy thicc, and so are you

“Otacon, where do these people keep coming from? What does ‘dummy thicc’ mean?” 

[bastardsunlight]

Solid Snake, how’s it feel to be the hottest of your kind?

"Hrrn... is this some kind of... interrogation tactic?" His codec beeps and Otacon phones in with his enthusiastic agreement with the statement.