Taken from Carole King song with the same name. Im 27 turning 58 I know…

Its Too Late
Maelgwyn
Sniper/Engineer 

(Time Started: 9:38pm. Finished 11:03pm)

~~

It was broken.  The pad was sitting haphazardly on the Engineer, his bare chest warmed by the sun streaming in from the now dwindling resource.  He hadn’t moved, the chill from the day had encouraged his lethargy.  The plan was simple, his numbers was to optimise the feed speed of his level one sentry.  But his heart wasn’t in it, his love of numbers couldn’t stop the hurt.

Of losing him.

The Sniper was not his first choice.  Hell, it wasn’t his choice at all.  It came from a friendship that had mutated into something far more romantic than he had liked.  Well at the time anyway.  His advances were shunned, he wanted to protect that fragile friendship that they had.  They sucked down beer after battles, smoked a pilfered cigar or two, laughed at each others terrible jokes and worse accents.

But he couldn’t resist his wiles.  That long face that was so animated when he talked, when he smiled.  God, the Engineer thought, his pencil clacking onto the paper, that smile.  It was warm,  genuine, and always for him.  Those horrid teeth that shone under his stubble only accentuated his roguish charm.  The way he would laugh when he was chastised about correct machinery maintenance, the way he smeared the grease on the Engineers chin, always as if he was the only person that could do that work.

Shit.

What happened then, the Engineer didn’t know.  Over the last few months, they had bunked together, their bodies entwined of a night, at war with each other during the day.  He always felt his jaw clench when the sentry would lock onto him, the spew of missiles that vaporised him into a mist of blood and gore.  He felt the sting as his chest blew apart, his lover’s kiss from the rifle as bittersweet.  But of a night, he felt the kiss from Sniper’s lips as they traced over the Engineer’s stocky form, tongue tracing over his barely defined muscles, Sniper’s hands as they gripped his…

He shook his head, clearing the image like smoke that hung in the air.  Their relationship was complex, incidental.  It only started because the Sniper had found the Engineer’s resting place, his special retreat after battle.  The battle had finished hours ago, uniforms rolled up, replaced by civilian clothes that clung to his body awkwardly.  He felt more at home within his RED shirt and overalls these days than his black tee and jeans, but he couldn’t be the job all the time.  His boots, scuffed from years of neglect rested on his toolbox as he stared at the sunset, the cold beer rested in a gloved hand.

“Hey mate, mind some company?” the Sniper had said, his clothes as foreign to him as to the Engineer.  His check shirt was grey, his normally brown hipsters replaced with a far baggier olive slacks, almost reminiscent of military issue.  He had opened up later about that, his battlefield was Korea, his skills invaluable in Operation Commando, and the holding of Seoul. Engineer was amazed by these stories, his brogue making them sound… illicit…

But war was hell, as the Engineer found later, his buddy would cry as he slept, names of fallen comrades would whimper from his mouth, the words coarse, pleading.  The Engineer could only try to soothe those demons, his thick fingers and calming southern drawl able to get them to rest again.  His sweat covered head would be buried so tenderly into the Engineers neck, something that mere hours earlier was worshipped as perfection…

He bit his lip.  The memories hurt, he realised as he folded the pad, fine smudges where tears had fallen obscured equations.  But the room had darkened, the tossed notepad was quickly engulfed by shadow. Dishevelled sheets proved his inactivity, his resistance to waking.  His boots still sat in the corner, this time lacking the Snipers winkle pickers that always sat beside.  His cupboard was open, the RED uniforms missing their BLU counterpart.

The fight was hell.  They had yelled, screamed at each other.  Words changed to fists as they lay into each other, the bruises that had welted on the Sniper were obscene as he grabbed his things.  That lithe body that had once squirmed delightfully on top of him was broken, the spirit that he had tenuously tried to keep alight finally snuffed by the Engineers damn fool pride.

The Engineer rolled over, his body betraying him by reminding him of the Snipers touch, wafts of his odour as he rolled onto his pillows.  The tears welled in the Engineer’s eyes, the flood gates of emotions that he tried to keep in check finally breaking.  His body heaved as he remembered those blue eyes, the spark extinguished.

And it was his fault.  He could have been different, he knew it.  The Engineer wailed, burying his head into the pillow, wallowing in that musk that he had left behind.  And now, he wanted him.

But its too late.