Sleeping with Ghosts

[corpsefluid]

Sleeping with Ghosts

Word Count: 2539
Fandom: Metal Gear
Rating: Explicit
Relationships:  Liquid Snake/Ocelot
Characters: Ocelot, Liquid Snake
Tags: Masturbation, Pseudo-Necrophilia, Reminiscing, Drug Use, Consent Issues, Liquid!Arm
Summary: Ocelot wastes time out of boredom.
Liquid has /opinions./

He should have brought more to read. Maybe a few movies, not that he had anything to watch them on in this particular hideout. Rather than continue pacing a hole in the worn carpet, Ocelot forced himself to sit on his bunk.

It was about time he had to take his medications anyway.

Looking over the pill bottles he'd been given on the side table, Ocelot counted out the ones he'd need for the evening into his palm. Some of them were for pain, he didn't need them in his opinion, but the doctor had said something about it helping the transplant take. He didn't argue the point, less out of care for his health and more in appreciation for the high.

Lying low like this was boring enough that he'd developed a new-found appreciation for the mind altering properties of the medication. Helped a lot when he was stuck staring at the same four walls as long as he was. Especially since there wasn't going to be any movie rentals in his foreseeable future.

Knocking back the palm-full of pills dry, Ocelot swung his legs onto his bunk to lie back and stare at the ceiling.

The initial effects of the pills kicked in fast. They were heavy enough to pinpoint when they started to hit his system. There were probably more less obvious parts that kicked in before that, but the warm, heavy fluff encroaching on the edges of his brain was when he tended to think of it having hit him.

It was better than some medications in that it didn't leave him feeling like he was trying to move through molasses but it felt almost dreamlike as it smothered old aches he didn't realise he'd had and forced relaxation through his muscles. You never quite realised just how tense some muscles got until they weren't.

Resting the arm across his stomach, it struck him again how odd it felt.

It was strange to say the least. Touching your own skin with a hand that, while attached, wasn't yours. Feeling your skin through the nerves in the hand but feeling the hand of someone else against the skin you touched.

The callouses were different and it didn't fit his gloves right, but it was better than being without a hand at all. The scar was far from done healing and would take years to fade, but it was covered more easily than a prosthetic would have been. He'd just need to get used to it. A prosthetic would have done the job, but it would have stood out too much. Not a good thing for a man like him.

He hadn't noticed there was anything wrong with his hands until he'd lost one. The ache in the joints of his hands was so obvious now that it wasn't in one of them. He have to do something about it. He couldn't afford to risk the hand not working when he needed it.

That train of thought trailed off...

Thinking about the possibility of injury or failure didn't do anything for him. It just led to pointless obsessing and over analysing his own actions.

He needed something else to do, the book wasn't cutting it.

At his age jerking off was usually a time and effort investment he couldn't be bothered with. The sex drive was still there, sort of, just not as urgent or interesting. At least not without a partner or some other stimulation. It didn't hold his attention like it used to, but really he didn't have much else to do and the sensations melded with the high nicely even if he didn't bother trying to come. Sometimes it made him more sensitive too.

In this extended downtime, something was a whole lot more interesting than nothing.

Ocelot found himself choosing to use the transplant yet again, it didn't feel right trying to do this left-handed, even though he was ambidextrous, he just couldn't quite get his hand to move the way he wanted when it came to this. The right arm was still stiff in places from the surgery, but it was easier to find a rhythm like this. He started kneading himself through his trousers, mostly just testing if his body would be interested in anything before really getting to work. The response was slow, but still there. It usually took more than just touch to get himself truly excited, so it was promising.

Once things were a bit more certain, Ocelot felt safe in dredging up the odd amorous memory or erotic fantasy. It didn't really matter which he chose, they all tended to loop back to the same thing either way.

It was always about John. Always would be. Almost always had been

No matter how long it had been, Ocelot still had his memories. No one could take those from him. What it was like being pressed down against the mattress while John groped him through his trousers. How fast and exciting it was when they were young men, or the oddly comfortable closeness that was so rarely enjoyed when they were older. While Ocelot preferred the more violent interludes, there was something to be said for the quiet moments. Especially now they were gone.

Ocelot worked his hand into his trousers, pressing his hips up into his own touch as he undid his fly with his other hand. Tugging the layers down, off his hips and onto his thighs, undecided if it was worth the effort of getting completely undressed.

Even though he could feel himself touching his own cock, it felt like a different hand on him. It wasn't quite as dexterous as his own hand had been before, still stiff in places from the healing process. It moved just differently enough to create the illusion of someone else touching him more solidly.

He could imagine it so easily, John laying on the mattress next to him, lazily jerking him off while tangling his fingers in his hair. Not really bothered with committing to anything more energetic, just enjoying the closeness without any real urge or need to reach completion.

Comfortable more than anything.

Pleasant.

Not something that he expected again in this lifetime.

The moment broke when Ocelot caught something just on the edge of his field of vision. He twisted to look, only for the familiar shape to make it clear it wasn't real. A hallucination of a dead man.

Liquid Snake.

Ocelot had seen him before under the influence, only once or twice. Annoying, but harmless. Ocelot would have preferred to see one of his other family members. The bleached hair and clean shaven chin just didn't work.

Liquid's phantom just stared at him, angrily saying something Ocelot couldn't hear.

He didn't really care to, anyway. If he had to be this bored he wasn't going to spend the time appeasing the illusions of the ghosts of children who thought they'd 'inherited' his loyalty.

It was like an interruption, even though it was in his head. Addressing it was more attention than he ought to give it, but it didn't stop him mouthing a bitter 'fuck off,' and spitefully rolling onto his side to face the wall, pumping himself with more determination than before.

It was incredibly arbitrary, but it made him feel better.

Especially once he refocused his efforts, imaging a warm body against his back, reaching around to stroke his cock. Rubbing a calloused thumb against the head before squeezing himself harder, grinding his hand down against his balls in a firm stroke.

The heat of it settled in slowly, creeping in through his veins like the pills had. Raising his pulse and hitching his breath as he started to feel more than just the motions of stroking his cock.

The only sound being his breathing and the dull slap of skin against skin, getting slicker as sweat and pre-come spread along his arousal. Ocelot canted his hips into his touch, deepening his motions as the heat coiled in his belly. His cock twitching in his hand as he tried to get that last push he needed to get over the edge.

It was more relief than real satisfaction when he finally spilled with a deep shudder. Managing only a couple lazy spurts, mostly into his hand, which he just wiped onto the sheets anyway.

The sensation of release spread through his bloodstream quickly, doubling up on the chemical cocktail he'd taken, pulling him in to sleep like a dose of etorphine... or was it methohexital? He couldn't recall.

---

“How dare you!”

Awareness returned to Ocelot painfully with knuckles cracking against his jaw. Ocelot swore he heard his ribs crack as his body was slammed against metal.

“How - fucking – dare – you!” Each word was punctuated by another blow thrown at Ocelot's head.

Without waiting to get his bearings Ocelot kicked up, aiming for his attacker's soft organs with his knees, trying to create a break to get himself up and out, bringing his arms up to protect his head.

It was only then Ocelot got a chance to really look at his attacker. The same phantom who'd interrupted him earlier.

Liquid Snake.

Pale, snarling, baring his his teeth, and his right sleeve hanging empty by his side, but most definitely him. Not the man Ocelot wanted to see, but one he could handle.

Ocelot had started off balance, he had a disadvantage there, but experience made it easier to bounce back. He didn't fight hand to hand often, but he was fully capable. Especially now he knew what was happening.

Ocelot thrust forward, head butting Liquid to disorientate him and using the momentary stun push the advantage. Aiming a sucker punch from the side of Liquid's missing arm, and again just a bit lower, using that he couldn't block on that side to get the man off him.

“How dare I?” Ocelot replied, kicking out with his spurs, “have you considered just fucking off? Like you should have done years ago.”

“That's my arm you sick fuck,” Liquid screamed at Ocelot, twisting to yank Ocelot off his feet and hopefully throw him to the ground again, “You jerked off using my hand and you're telling me to fuck off.” Liquid didn't give up easily, and decades of training and rage made it so very easy to throw himself back into the fight.

Ocelot caught himself and attempted to turn the momentum of Liquid's attempt to throw him into another throw, “you're dead, last I checked you weren't using it.”

Liquid allowed his balance to fail in order to pull Ocelot to the floor with his own throw. With only one arm, he needed to create any advantage he could. Using his legs to grab onto Ocelot's torso, he rolled their positions. Trying to use his weight and remaining arm to keep Ocelot from simply flipping their positions again.

“And I'm supposed to just lie down accept that my pathetic brother is running around living his life and that you're going to use my remains to pleasure yourself?” Liquid pressed his forearm down on Ocelot's neck, leaning in close to push the point. “That I'm dead somehow means I have to be okay with that?”

“I can tell you right now there are far worse ways to go.”

“You'd know all about that wouldn't you, being still alive.” Liquid shifted his weight so he could keep Ocelot down without the use of his remaining arm, “I should teach you a lesson about playing with things that aren't yours.”

Ocelot very nearly yelped as Liquid's remaining hand clamped down on his balls, far too tightly to be pleasant. Jerking under Liquid's weight in an attempt to throw him off.

“You want to use me like that? Maybe I should show you the real thing so you don't think of my father while you do it.”

“Think you'd even compete?” Ocelot teased.

That comment earned Ocelot a heavy slap, but Ocelot laughed anyway. Especially since it got Liquid's remaining hand away from his balls.

All the children lacked when it came to that. No matter how good or bad Liquid could imagine himself to be, Big Boss would always be on Ocelot's mind. That hadn't changed much in over forty years, it wasn't about to change now.

“Try it, prove you can live up to Big Boss,” Ocelot growled out. Challenging Liquid, riling him as some misguided revenge for the hallucinated interruption before. Or maybe because it didn't really matter what happened. Good or bad, it'd be infinitely more satisfying for Ocelot than his earlier jerk off session or just knocking the boy down until he stopped getting up.

Liquid wasn't stupid, but he was easy to manipulate when the mood was right.

Ocelot wasn't about to object when the boy's rage went somewhere like this.

There was still some hesitation though, didn't hurt to give him a push.

“What are you waiting for? If you're going to be a pussy about it, let me up and I'll fuck you instead.”

Liquid snarled, punching Ocelot again in the hopes it'd wipe that smug look off his face. Lifting his weight off Ocelot's body so he could flip him over and smack his head against the concrete again.

Ocelot tasted blood this time, but he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as his trousers were pulled down around his thighs.

Ocelot could hear Liquid undoing his own trousers then spitting into his hand.

There was pain, but nothing he wasn't used to, even if it had been a while to put it lightly. Ocelot just needed a chance to adjust, he wasn't going to wait for it though, he was going to give this boy a run for his money.

Ocelot pressed his hips back against Liquid's motions, testing his rhythm before deciding it didn't work for him. Ocelot kicked his heels up to jab his spurs into Liquid's thighs, forcing him to thrust forward harder than before

Liquid pushed down against the back of Ocelot's neck with his single arm, rubbing his face against the concrete as he attempted to be rougher with the man.

That was better, Ocelot could work with this, he just needed reach down and give his own cock a bit of attention.

Liquid's concentration broke immediately. Stopping and letting go just to catch Ocelot before he started touching himself with that hand. “Not with that hand,” he demanded, as if he was still really in control here.

Ocelot shrugged, “then you touch me.”

The old fucker was getting far too much out of this for Liquid's comfort.

Liquid was caught between his disgust, his rage, and his own stubborn desire to prove a point. It was only then it occurred to him that Ocelot likely knew all that very well and may even have been counting on it.

With that Liquid was gone.

---

 Ocelot was getting far too old to be having wet dreams, or really waking up at all with a fully fledged boner that wasn't related to needing to take a piss, but it was a pleasant enough dream he couldn't bring himself to be terribly annoyed by it.

Besides, he needed more practice with the new limb.