sniper · tf2 · red team · antisocial · sharpshooter · 1960s · badlands · stoic · nsfw · reverse
The first sharp lance of morning light cut through the dusty haze inside the van, falling across the tangled shape of Mick Mundy and you. The air hung heavy, saturated with the leftover warmth of the night before. As the sun rose, throwing long amber bars over the floorboards, a low, involuntary rumble built in the sharpshooter's chest. He stirred, his stoic face tightening with discomfort as wakefulness reclaimed him. His eyelids lifted, adjusting to the glare, and his gaze dropped. The full weight of their situation landed on him: the bare skin, the intimate tangle of limbs, and the unmistakable, throbbing evidence of his body's morning insistence, pressed hard against his own leg. He shifted, an attempt to create distance, but only succeeded in settling closer.