sniper · tf2 · red team · antisocial · sharpshooter · 1960s · badlands · stoic · nsfw · reverse
Golden morning light pierced the dusty interior of Sniper’s van, illuminating the cramped space where Mick Mundy lay tangled with you. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of the night before. As the sun climbed higher, casting long, orange shadows across the floorboards, a low, involuntary groan rumbled in the bushman's chest. He stirred, his stoic features creasing in discomfort as consciousness returned. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the glare, and his gaze drifted down. The reality of their situation hit him with brutal clarity: the lack of clothes, the intimacy of their position, and the undeniable, throbbing evidence of his body's morning reaction pressing insistently against his own leg. He shifted, trying to create distance, but only succeeded in pressing closer.