May 16th, 2017. Los Angeles, California.

Safely extract the hostage.

It should have been simple enough.

“Found them,” operator Pichon’s, aka “Twitch”, voice broke the silence. “Basement level, in the vault. I destroyed the cameras in the lobby, office hallway, and vault lobby before they got my drone.”

There were a few nods and grunts of acknowledgment, but the rest of the team was already deep in thought.

“I’ll start on the roof,” Jackal offered. “Sweep the place top to bottom, and pick off anyone cocky enough to roam.”

“Twitch and I will come from the back alley, and push through the electrical room, working our way server room stairs, and rain death from above where we can,” Cowden said, holding his hammer firmly and grinning at the last part.

The last two looked at each other, and nodded.

“You’ll need a distraction,” Cohen said, loading a breaching round into the launcher. “A frontal assault through the garage would be suicide, but…”

“But that has never stopped us before,” Touré, “Montagne”, laughed deeply, testing the weight of his shield, Le Roc, on his arm, before nodding slowly. “Just don’t take too long to pick them off.”

The others chuckled, though somewhat nervously. It was simple, but that didn’t mean it would be easy.

They picked off the outside cameras almost instantly upon deployment, and felt fairly confident that they were still undetected, though that only mattered for the other three; for Ash and Montagne, they wanted to be spotted, and they wanted to be shot at, and if the cameras hadn’t spotted them, their presence was certainly noticed when Ash launched two breaching rounds into the garage door, blasting it wide open. It was only a matter of seconds before bullets were ricocheting off of Le Roc, with Cohen and Touré safely behind.

“We’ve got Doc and Valkyrie on us,” Cohen alerted the others. “I’ll take shots when I can. Keep us updated.”

“And what do we have here?” Ramírez mused through the com system. “It looks like Caveira is on the prowl, take care on the first floor.”

An affirmative was heard from the other two, but other than that the team was relatively quiet, and progress was slow. Ash fired a few times, but with two operators laying down fire, it was hard to do so safely, and killing them wasn’t her main objective anyway.

The two slowly progressed into the room, step by step, pushing Le Roc closer to the enemy, until they rounded the corner on the loading doc. There was half a second of calm, in which Ash leaned out from behind Montagne, and aimed carefully at the doorway. There was a flicker of movement, and a barrage of bullets were exchanged. Touré’s arms strained against the vibrations that were sent through the shield, but it only lasted a second or two before there was silence again.

“Doc’s down,” Cohen’s voice echoed from both behind him and in his ear, and his eyes moved to the doorway where the body was crumpled on the door. “No sign of Valkyrie anymore.”

“Good work,” was Twitch’s reply. “Be careful down there, we caught a glimpse of Smo-”

There was a hiss, and soft explosion, before the two were inside of a yellow, poisonous cloud.

“Smoke!” Touré yelled, covering his nose with one hand, and moving for the doorway, letting Le Roc down for half a second.

Another hail of bullets greeted the two, and Montagne moved his hand to rip his pistol from its holster, rushing the entrance, and pulling at the trigger before he even turned the corner. He could feel a sharp pain tear through his left leg, and grunted as he dropped to one knee, watching the dark shape around the corner recoil with round from his LFP586. He clenched the trigger again, but it only clicked uselessly, and Touré realized that he had lost count, firing blindly into the enemy. There was half a second of fear in his eyes before he realized that the masked man was lying motionlessly on the ground, and Montagne let out a sigh of relief.

“Smoke’s dead,” he muttered, and then glanced quickly behind himself and feeling his heart sink. “And… So is Ash.”

“Shit,” Cowden replied. “Are you alright?”

“I’m hit, but I’ll recover.”

“Alright. We’ll be with you soon, we’re at the stairs right…”

Sledge’s mic cut out, and Montagne could hear gunfire break out somewhere through the rooms to his right. Quickly, he leaned against the wall, and desperately reloaded the revolver, his eyes jumping to either side.

“Cowden? Pichon?” He asked a few seconds after last shot echoed to him.

There was silence, and then a single shot.

“They’re gone.” It was Ramírez. “I wasn’t fast enough. Caveira took them both out from behind before I got to her. It’s two against two now.”

“Fuck,” Touré muttered, keeping Le Roc between himself and the open hallway.

“Stay focused,” Jackal replied. “I’m moving around to the main stairway to back you up. Play it safe.”

Montagne nodded to himself, and, with his back pressed to the wall, began to move slowly through the hall into the vault vault lobby.

The basement floor seemed disturbingly quiet as he inched along the wall, and there was no sign of the other two. The few seconds that it took to reach the stairs felt like the better part of an hour, with his eyes sweeping every surface for a sign of movement or a flicker or light: anything that could be Valkyrie, one of her cameras, or the unknown fifth operator. Quickly, Touré glanced behind himself, and around the corner into the main stairway, before backing up the first few steps.

“Ramírez, where are you?”

He was answered with the explosions of two fully automatic weapons exchanging fire.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” he muttered, swinging Le Roc to the side, charging up the stairs as fast as he could. By the time he reached the top, the gunfire had stopped, and there was a trail of blood leading to his left. His heart sank, and another sigh of sorrow left his lips when he was greeted by the sight of Jackal. He lay on the ground, arms splayed to either side, and half of his face missing, surrounded by a pool of what could only be his own blood.

Montagne knelt next to his last teammate, and closed his remaining eye so that he appeared to be resting. “You can count on me,” Touré muttered.

“This is what we trained for,” a familiar voice echoed from behind him, and Montagne spun furiously, slamming his shield into the ground and bracing himself.

“Nizan,” he growled at the sight of Rook.

“It’s going to be alright, mon ami,” the man replied, smiling behind the visor of his helmet. “It’s just me and you.”

“I’ll kill you for this,” Montagne ground his teeth, and slowly began to push toward the heavily armored figure. “Be ready for anything.”

“Oh? Anything?” Rook replied, grinning wickedly in such a way that Montagne was almost taken back. “I will do as required.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

The man didn’t even have his MP5 up and ready; instead it hung harmlessly in one hand at his side, as if he wasn’t concerned at all. “Oh, come now, mon ami, you would be lying if you said you weren’t thinking the same thing. We’re all alone, and success is the only option here.”

Nizan set down his submachine gun, resting it carefully against the wall, and then removed his helmet, and smiled at Touré. “I won’t let you down.”

Touré stared in confusion, his eyes moving carefully up and down the target, staying alert for any sudden movement, until his eyes came to rest on something unusual: the outline of a large bulge stemming from just below his belt. Montagne could not tell if it was due to shock or absolute confusion that caused Le Roc to slip from his grip, and fall to the ground, but he barely noticed it happen.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself.

Rook’s grin only seemed to grow, as well as the shape in his pants, with the fall of the shield. “You know you can depend on me.”

Slowly, the operator began to walk towards Touré, though he was so shocked that he barely noticed. He was overcome with a tidal wave of thought and emotion. Rook had just killed his last teammate, what the fuck did he think he was doing? What was he going to do? His revolver was already back in its holster from when he had the shield extended, there was no way he would be fast enough. Was Nizan….was he actually hard for him? Was he actually attracted to him? How long had he felt this way? Had he been planning for this?

“Oh? It looks like you’re ready too,” Rook’s voice broke his train of thought, and Touré found his face flooding with a wave of heat at the discovery that his own cock was now rock hard, though he had not noticed it happen.

“Maybe then,” Rook said, reaching for his belt, “it’s time for some serious protection.”

From his distance, Montagne could only make out the word “lube” on the bottle that Rook produced. At this point, there was only one course of action, and only one thing on Touré’s mind.

“I’ll be where you need me,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. “Just… stay close behind me.”

It was only a matter of seconds before the two had made their way back to the main stairway, and Montagne found his belt undone, his pants around his ankles, and both hands gripping the railing firmly. He glanced back at his French partner.

“Let’s proceed slowly,” he said nervously. He had never done anything like this before, and now, with his bare, shaved ass exposed to the air, and a pool of lube crawling its way down the split, he felt quite vulnerable.

Rook, however, had no such intentions.

“I know what I must do,” he replied. “Setting trauma pack here.”

With the last word, the two grunted at the same time, letting out slow breaths and perhaps a moan as Nizan inserted himself, pushing the tip of his hard cock deep into Touré, until their balls slapped against each others.

It felt like pure ecstasy.

“We need to move faster!” He moaned with the slow motion of Rook, pounding in and out.

“Oh, mon ami,” Nizan groaned in reply, increasing both the speed and intensity of each pound, and reaching around to Montagne’s front side, gripping the half-mast. “I’ll get you back up in no time.”

The two kept going, pounding faster and harder, with Montagne gripping the railing of the stairs for dear life, bending over as much as he dared. Then, however, Nizan began to shake, and his breath became unsteady, his quivering cock threatening to burst inside of Touré.

“Stay behind me!” Montagne begged, thrusting backwards with his partners failing strength, trying to push to the end. “We must hurry!”

But Rook could take no more, and as Montagne bounced back onto his cock, Nizan let out a deep moan, causing Touré to do the same as a hot, big load of cum began to fill up Montagne.

The two remained where they were, panting for a moment, but Touré was surprised when Rook reached around, grabbed him firmly, and began to stroke.

“Check your ammo,” he whispered in his ear, cupping his balls with the other hand. Montagne moaned.

Of course, a simple handjob would never be enough for Montagne, and it was only a minute or two before he turned on his partner.

“Time to move forward,” he said, leaning back against the railing, letting his cock stand out, hard and huge as it was.

Rook smiled, and dropped to his knees almost instantly.

“Hang in there,” were the last words that came from his mouth before he wrapped his lips around Touré’s shaft, and began to let his head bob up and down.

“Stay right here, keep your head down,” Montagne groaned, grabbing Rook’s face, and forcing his cock deep into his throat, grunting with each thrust.

With Touré’s cock so deep in his throat, however, Rook found himself unable to breathe, and his face started to turn blue in a desperate attempt to finish his partner.

“Please stay with me,” Montagne grunted, thrusting faster and faster, harder and harder, his breath growing even quicker.

After a few seconds, just when Nizan thought he couldn’t take anymore and would pass out, Montange groaned.

“Be prepared for anything,” he muttered, and his legs buckled as his cock exploded, shooting his hot cum all the way down Rook’s throat, forcing him to swallow all of it before pulling out.

With that, the two both dropped to the floor with exhaustion, cum dripping from each, in a puddle of sweat.

“You stay close to me,” Montagne whispered in his partner’s ear, wrapping his arms around him.

As they lay there, however, Montange became more aware of his surroundings, and a strange noise that came from above. Flicking his eyes to the ceiling, Touré was at first confused at the strange, small blue light, but then his eyes widened. The small camera in the ceiling that had been focused on the two the entire time quickly turned away, as if pretending that the operator had not been watching the entire scene play out.

“Valkyrie,” Touré groaned in anger and annoyance.

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