The Beat Of Birds Wings - TF2 (Sniper x Scout)

Camp

The sun is high in the sky when they reach the national park. The heat bearing down is unbelievable to Scout. He sits sun-dazed and gawking at the lush green of the grass and foliage that occupies most of the quiet campsite, it's softness a welcome sight after miles of sunburnt ochre and sandstone. The campa rolls gently though the park grounds dusty gravel road, Snipers whistling as he swings the tin can onto the grass.

Snipers gravelly voice draws Scout back from somewhere distant.  

"This is the lot we were given, booked it for the night. Shela at reception said just 'ter go back an' ask if we want teh' stay longer."  

"Alright." Comes Scouts plain response, he was barely listening.

The van shudders to a stop and Scout throws himself out tripping slightly. He begins stretching, relieving the stiffness with that familiar pain. He scrunches the grass between his toes and he can feel the sun on his neck and across his shoulders like a branding iron. Breathing deep he takes in the air which smells like mulch and moisture, theres another scent too, one he recognises from the day he arrived in Australia, it's followed him everywhere, it reminds him of cough drops.

The camp ground is a large plain of grass dotted by clumps of trees, a cold campfire here or there, a few log seats and a picnic table or two, bordered by a dense space of bushland. The wide gravel road splits the place in two and ran parallel to the swimming hole. As Sniper had said, it was almost completely empty. There was a thin veil of trees to his left and through it he could see two other campers with tents set up, to his delight far away enough to give them privacy. They were on the water side of the grounds, Scout spied it glinting through the thicket in front of them.

Scout hears the back of the van open and Sniper shuffling around inside. Scout cracks his back and wipes a sheen of sweat from his brow. He finds refuge in the shade and leans against the smooth trunk of a gumtree. He folds his arms and watches as dappled sunlight dances across them as the tree swayed gently in the breeze.

Sniper appears a moment later, an arm full of cast iron equipment. He sets it down in between Scout and the van. Scouts keen gaze follows the way the muscles in Snipers arm move under that southern cross tattoo as he places the heavy load on the grass. Sniper almost always wore a collared-long-sleeve-shirt all the time they had worked together, Scout never noticed how solid his arms looked, until now. He looked good in a singlet.

"Need a hand?" Scout asks begrudgingly.

Sniper adjusts his hat and stares at Scout for a moment, his eyes lingering on the bright purple bruise on the boys shoulder.

"Nah J, this is it for now, just cooking equipment..." He gestures at the pile. "...Don't need 'ter set nothin' els up... That is, if you're good to sleep in the campa' with me."

Scout pouts slightly, avoiding Snipers eyes.

"Yeah, I don't mind that." He says chocking slightly, thinking about it makes him dizzy. He takes one look at Sniper and his lips twitch and twist into a wide grin.

"Although if I'm in there with ya' Mick, we're not gonna get much sleepin' done." He teases.

Sniper lowers his sunnies and winks.

"Come over here and help me get wood for a fire and then yer can go swimmin' or whatever."

"I'll give you wood." Scout jests, crudely tugging at his crotch and breaking out into a smirk.

Sniper rolls his eyes and waves him away.

"You're impossible Jeremy. If yer tryin' teh' be funny, try not to sound so keen." Sniper remarks but unable to muster any real scorn.