They are, and they don't entirely! In the Eiensgaden sequence in Retaliation, you can see very faint scars where some of the worst injuries Snake Eyes inflicted used to be. Another smart move by Chu, imo - acknowledge the first movie happened, but don't waste time explaining how Storm survived. It just makes him cooler. ;)
But I headcanon that the monastery healer, Jhankri, was one of Storm's final teachers, and taught him those meditation techniques that came up in the last WIP, along with some extraordinary feats of control over his physicality. Hence him being able to stop his own heart briefly, survive the plunge into Arctic waters after being run through, etc.
Storm to Goody: Flesh is transitory. Flesh is an instrument. And flesh does as it's told. *smirks, stalks out of the training arena* Shall I show you?-
“By all means, please do,” Goody says faintly, his eyes very satisfyingly glazing over. Storm might be the embodiment of control, but he accepts that he’s as susceptible to flattery as anyone else. Besides, he reasons that it’s good for Goody to spiral off somewhere pleasant in his head for once.
Never mind that cheeks red, pupils blown, lips parted slightly and struck dumb is a deeply appealing look on him. Appealing enough to draw Storm closer, close enough to smell the firing range on him. Sweat and nitrocellulose.
Of course Storm had always planned to bed Robicheaux eventually. The man was hardly subtle in his attraction, and the notion of release after months of pent-up tension had possessed definite appeal. Not to mention the ex-Joe had been his best bet at an ally, and it wouldn't have hurt to reinforce the idea.
But it was in moments like this, when just a word from Storm Shadow left Goodnight within a breath of surrender and a smoldering tangle of lust and affection tugged Storm toward Goodnight in turn, that Storm had to admit, if only to himself, that he was well past the point of their dalliance being nothing more than a tactical option.
And that's frightening enough that he smirks and promises, "Tonight." instead of dragging Goonight off for demonstration. A few more rounds of bouncing greenshirts off the floor should help chase down his control again.
within a breath of surrender is outstanding phrasing and I will be stealing it, thank you.
It’s just as well they’re alone when Storm promises Goody, “Tonight,” because if anyone had overheard, the news would have traveled at the speed of gossip and been all over the Pit well before the appointed time. Reaction among the Joes would have been evenly split between “FUCKING FINALLY, now maybe some of us can get some work done around here,” and protective attempts at cockblocking ranging from annoyingly subtle to dangerously close to provoking Storm into blue-ball-induced murder (if Goody didn’t snap first and just maul Storm anyway, disapproving audience be damned).
But fortunately, they are alone, and so the day proceeds normally. Other than the sharper-than-usual glances Snake sends Storm’s way. And the increased volume of complaints in the mess hall at dinner time from the greenshirt ranks, collectively nursing more bruises than even Storm’s usual punishing standard. The one saving grace is that firearms training had been unusually relaxed, in contrast. But by now most of them know better than to question Sergeant Robicheaux’s uncharacteristic distraction, and just take the reprieve at face value.
Bounty Hunter quietly checks over the private stash of whiskey and bourbon in his quarters. Just in case it’s needed. Afterwards.
"Afterwards" seems a long time coming. Worryingly long. Goodnight is what passes for a gentleman, given his upbringing; he doesn't kiss (or anything else) and tell. But he's always been a man possessed of an excess of feelings, and they tend to find their way out as talk. And there's no way on God's Earth that Goodnight Robicheaux has become a cold enough man in the last four years that's he's not going to have feelings to spare about this encounter.
The door opens when he knocks, but it's Storm Shadow that stands at the threshold of Goodnight's quarters, white sweats riding low on his hips and wearing fresh annoyance to go with the crescent bruise at the join of his neck and shoulder.
Sam doesn't know why he's surprised to see Storm still there. He reckons it's because he can't see a man who makes so little effort to hide his desire for distance willingly sharing space with another warm body for longer than it takes to drop an opponent. Definitely not giving over the territory it would take to share a bed meant for one.
"Goodnight's asleep," he says bluntly. There's no illusion that Sam's here for any reason beyond Goody's welfare.
"Well, that's a surprise." Sam resists the urge to try to peer past him.
"Actually asleep," Storm adds, a wry scorn corkscrewing the words. "If I wanted to hide a body, I'd have chosen better circumstances."
Storm Shadow's games don't make much impression on Sam. The fact that Goodnight is relaxed enough to sleep through the night, though? Through someone else getting up out of bed to answer his door? Well.
FYI, if you want to take anything I've talked about or written for this AU and incorporate them into your story - tweaked to your own style or rewritten or even just copy-pasted - you have my blessing.
Storm closes the door before Bounty Hunter is finished turning to leave. The motion pulls at the bruise on his trapezius muscle, a faint ache that he rubs at thoughtfully as he easily picks his way back to the bunk in the total dark, having memorized the layout of Goodnight's quarters the first time he'd visited. Months and ages ago, when they were still warily circling, and Storm had contented himself with only occasional (and well-hidden) glances at Goodnight's face and body.
Now he knows what that body feels like spread out under him, arched and writhing, what that face looks like soft and stunned in pleasure, the mouth wet and open, teeth dug into Storm's shoulder, hoarse moans breathed out against his skin. The heat of him around Storm's fingers, tight and pulsing. The soft skin in the hollow of his hip, slick with sweat and Storm's own precome. The constant flex of his legs and arms and stomach, trembling with tension, every line of his body betraying desperation until Storm calmed him down with slow kisses and softly-voiced commands. He now has a new wealth of kinesthetic and sensory memories to store alongside audio and visuals in the rapidly expanding file marked "Goodnight Robicheaux".
The bruise pulls again when he slides back into the bunk, spooning around Goodnight as if he'd never left. He could heal it easily if he wished. Wake up totally unmarked, in contrast to the livid shadows of his teeth and fingers liberally strung across Goodnight's skin.
...maybe he'll leave it for a day, Storm Shadow decides, and lets himself be lulled into sleep with the gentle, even rhythm of Goodnight's rib cage expanding and contracting under his palm.
Besides Sam, Snake Eyes is the only soul who's clued in to the goings-on of the previous night (and it sure as hell isn't because Storm Shadow told him). He's waiting when Storm arrives at the arena to warm up ahead of his students. And the battle stance he takes is no mere invitation to spar.
They're still at it when Goodnight passes through from the armory, greenshirts trailing behind like ducklings. Storm is bloodied, Snake limping. Fists and staves strike in an eyeblink, the impacts punctuated by brief flashes of hands signing something that's definitely not ASL. They've drawn an audience, including Jinx, who watches them with a set jaw and folded arms.
She glances over at Goodnight. When he draws close to ask what the hell is going on, she pitches her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
"They're arguing about you." In the background, Storm swings his weapon at Snake's head. Jinx sighs. "Welcome to the family."
We’ve really diverged from your outline, huh? AU of the AU?
“The hell are they arguing over me for?” Goodnight snaps, unexpectedly sharp. “I’m no fainting southern belle. Or some prize trophy, neither.”
Jinx shakes her head. Checks again to make sure all the nearby greenshirts have wandered off to join the spectators. “But you are valuable to the Joes. To us.”
[A bit. But then, there's space between to bounce around how Snake feels when it seems like Storm might be (figuratively and literally) fucking with his family vs later when it's Storm giving in and showing he has actual feelings toward Goodnight... even if it's not exactly done in the most emotionally mature manner.]
Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow disengage abruptly. The pair regard each other with resentful wariness, then Storm turns his back on his "brother". He stalks over to Goodnight, easy and relaxed, a half-smirk on his face, as if he's not dripping sweat, stained red here and there, and developing a host of fresh bruises to keep Goody's bite-mark company. It's familiar ground for Storm Shadow, defining himself by opposition. When he smiles at Jinx, his teeth are veiled in red.
He speaks low and quick, Japanese, something Goody doesn't catch. Jinx shoots her a cousin a Look that would split a lesser man's liver, then walks away without reply.
Storm breathes a laugh. Sucks his teeth. The smile he flashes at Goody gleams like a snake's fang.
"I asked if she wanted to fight me next," he explains. He's close enough to touch, but doesn't. "You look like you might want to throw a punch yourself."
“You’ve never taken me for an idiot before,” Goodnight says evenly. “I’d hate to think you’ve started now.”
And no, he’s not gathered himself to strike, despite the tension in his jaw and the heated spark in his eyes, a stormy grey-blue today. Carrying more weight than the combined gazes of Snake, the greenshirts, a few Joes, and probably Goodnight’s god burning into Storm’s back.
He needs them all, yes. But somehow Goodnight’s the only one who matters, whether Storm’s ready to admit it to himself or not.
“You could try anyway,” Storm invites with a leer, letting his hands dangle by his sides, palms open, telegraphing as wide an opening as he humanly can. Half-curious as to whether Goodnight would try. He hadn’t heard the exact conversation within Jinx, but he can guess at the shape of it. Goodnight still has just enough pride left that it can be stung.
But Goodnight just sighs through his nose and shuts his eyes for a moment. “Of course you’re enjoying this, you perverse son of a bitch,” he says, the rancor already bleeding out of his voice, shoulders slumping.
Storm shrugs when he opens his eyes. “You knew who you were getting in bed with. Who you were flirting with for four months.”
Goodnight looks like he’s searching for an answer to that, jaw working, eyes narrowing. Finally settles on, “Yeah, guess I did. I’ll see you later.” Turns to go.
And then Storm does touch him. Reaches out at the speed of thought and stops him with two fingers, resting on his bicep, in the exact spot where Storm knows he left a palm-shaped bruise. Smiles a little at the way Goodnight inhales involuntarily, sharp and startled. He knows the gesture, the smile, and Goodnight’s reaction were all visible to Snake, the greenshirts, a few Joes, and probably Goodnight’s god - and by the way he’s flushing up his (unmarked) neck, Goodnight knows it too.
“I will see you tonight,” Storm says, low and pitched for Goodnight’s ears only.
It's on the tip of Goodnight's tongue to tell Storm Shadow to go fuck himself. Except for the fingertips resting oh so lightly against the bruising on his arm. Not a threat. A reminder.
Of Goodnight spread, covered, and filled in the dark of his room, riding the high of just being able to feel with someone else. So aching and elated with the promise of intimate satiation that the moment knifed over into fear. It would be too much. He wouldn't be able to bear the intensity of this completion, the vulnerability of it. It would break him into pieces after so long of letting sex be something done to him rather than with someone.
He'd striven no less intently toward orgasm, bucking up against Storm impatiently, but he felt the difference, that slip from desperately wanting to come for the man above him to longing for passing of the moment, to having the uncertainty over and done with.
He'd been pinned to his bunk a moment later, strong hands on his arms in a bruising grip. The pleading sound on his lips stilled by a firm, unhurried kiss. Then the lifeline of hot, controlled whispers in his ear. Telling him to relax. Guiding him back to himself. The firm grip that seemed as if it could hold him together against the force of a mortar round reassuring him all the more. All working in tandem to help him uncoil, to sink back into the pleasure of his body, not the doubts of his mind.
Flesh does as its told. And Storm Shadow speaks a language Goody's needed to hear for a long time now. Understanding without pity.
"I'll see you tonight," Goodnight says. Agreement, not acquiescence. And sometime before then, he and Snake Eyes are going to have a chat somewhere that doesn't involve making a spectacle of Goodnight's love life. Or whatever the hell it is he and Storm have just stepped into.
Storm watches Goodnight go, gathering up greenshirts like a Cajun pied piper, and decides, tonight. Tonight he’s going to leave marks that can’t be hidden under clothing.
“Warm-up. Albillar, you’re leading stretches today,” he says to the remaining murmuring recruits without turning his head. Decides also that he won’t bother to wash the blood off. It’ll teach them how to fight through the distraction and instinctive disgust of bodily fluids. It’s for their own good, really.
*
Snake stalks out of the arena as the greenshirts form up lines for stretching exercises. Catches Storm’s smirking eyes as he leaves, damn him. Bastard in every sense of the word. Watching the heat surge between Goodnight and Storm, palpable to even the most thickheaded among them, had been disturbing to the extreme.
This isn’t over, he signs to Storm, irritation bleeding through the sharp sweep of his fingers through the air.
Storm just smiles. “I’d be disappointed if it were.”
Snake scowls under his mask and wonders if this is what it’s like to have siblings. Bastard.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:28 pm (UTC)Are these from the 2009 movie? They've magically disappeared by 2013, then.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:28 pm (UTC)Storm Shadow is so boss that even his scars leave when he tells them to.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:29 pm (UTC)But I headcanon that the monastery healer, Jhankri, was one of Storm's final teachers, and taught him those meditation techniques that came up in the last WIP, along with some extraordinary feats of control over his physicality. Hence him being able to stop his own heart briefly, survive the plunge into Arctic waters after being run through, etc.
Storm to Goody: Flesh is transitory. Flesh is an instrument. And flesh does as it's told. *smirks, stalks out of the training arena* Shall I show you?-
- (With apologies to JM Straczynski. XD)
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Date: 2019-01-12 04:30 pm (UTC)“By all means, please do,” Goody says faintly, his eyes very satisfyingly glazing over. Storm might be the embodiment of control, but he accepts that he’s as susceptible to flattery as anyone else. Besides, he reasons that it’s good for Goody to spiral off somewhere pleasant in his head for once.
Never mind that cheeks red, pupils blown, lips parted slightly and struck dumb is a deeply appealing look on him. Appealing enough to draw Storm closer, close enough to smell the firing range on him. Sweat and nitrocellulose.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:30 pm (UTC)But it was in moments like this, when just a word from Storm Shadow left Goodnight within a breath of surrender and a smoldering tangle of lust and affection tugged Storm toward Goodnight in turn, that Storm had to admit, if only to himself, that he was well past the point of their dalliance being nothing more than a tactical option.
And that's frightening enough that he smirks and promises, "Tonight." instead of dragging Goonight off for demonstration. A few more rounds of bouncing greenshirts off the floor should help chase down his control again.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:31 pm (UTC)within a breath of surrender is outstanding phrasing and I will be stealing it, thank you.
It’s just as well they’re alone when Storm promises Goody, “Tonight,” because if anyone had overheard, the news would have traveled at the speed of gossip and been all over the Pit well before the appointed time. Reaction among the Joes would have been evenly split between “FUCKING FINALLY, now maybe some of us can get some work done around here,” and protective attempts at cockblocking ranging from annoyingly subtle to dangerously close to provoking Storm into blue-ball-induced murder (if Goody didn’t snap first and just maul Storm anyway, disapproving audience be damned).
But fortunately, they are alone, and so the day proceeds normally. Other than the sharper-than-usual glances Snake sends Storm’s way. And the increased volume of complaints in the mess hall at dinner time from the greenshirt ranks, collectively nursing more bruises than even Storm’s usual punishing standard. The one saving grace is that firearms training had been unusually relaxed, in contrast. But by now most of them know better than to question Sergeant Robicheaux’s uncharacteristic distraction, and just take the reprieve at face value.
Bounty Hunter quietly checks over the private stash of whiskey and bourbon in his quarters. Just in case it’s needed. Afterwards.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:31 pm (UTC)The door opens when he knocks, but it's Storm Shadow that stands at the threshold of Goodnight's quarters, white sweats riding low on his hips and wearing fresh annoyance to go with the crescent bruise at the join of his neck and shoulder.
Sam doesn't know why he's surprised to see Storm still there. He reckons it's because he can't see a man who makes so little effort to hide his desire for distance willingly sharing space with another warm body for longer than it takes to drop an opponent. Definitely not giving over the territory it would take to share a bed meant for one.
"Goodnight's asleep," he says bluntly. There's no illusion that Sam's here for any reason beyond Goody's welfare.
"Well, that's a surprise." Sam resists the urge to try to peer past him.
"Actually asleep," Storm adds, a wry scorn corkscrewing the words. "If I wanted to hide a body, I'd have chosen better circumstances."
Storm Shadow's games don't make much impression on Sam. The fact that Goodnight is relaxed enough to sleep through the night, though? Through someone else getting up out of bed to answer his door? Well.
Sam just nods. "I'll see him come morning, then."
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:32 pm (UTC)FYI, if you want to take anything I've talked about or written for this AU and incorporate them into your story - tweaked to your own style or rewritten or even just copy-pasted - you have my blessing.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:33 pm (UTC)Storm closes the door before Bounty Hunter is finished turning to leave. The motion pulls at the bruise on his trapezius muscle, a faint ache that he rubs at thoughtfully as he easily picks his way back to the bunk in the total dark, having memorized the layout of Goodnight's quarters the first time he'd visited. Months and ages ago, when they were still warily circling, and Storm had contented himself with only occasional (and well-hidden) glances at Goodnight's face and body.
Now he knows what that body feels like spread out under him, arched and writhing, what that face looks like soft and stunned in pleasure, the mouth wet and open, teeth dug into Storm's shoulder, hoarse moans breathed out against his skin. The heat of him around Storm's fingers, tight and pulsing. The soft skin in the hollow of his hip, slick with sweat and Storm's own precome. The constant flex of his legs and arms and stomach, trembling with tension, every line of his body betraying desperation until Storm calmed him down with slow kisses and softly-voiced commands. He now has a new wealth of kinesthetic and sensory memories to store alongside audio and visuals in the rapidly expanding file marked "Goodnight Robicheaux".
The bruise pulls again when he slides back into the bunk, spooning around Goodnight as if he'd never left. He could heal it easily if he wished. Wake up totally unmarked, in contrast to the livid shadows of his teeth and fingers liberally strung across Goodnight's skin.
...maybe he'll leave it for a day, Storm Shadow decides, and lets himself be lulled into sleep with the gentle, even rhythm of Goodnight's rib cage expanding and contracting under his palm.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:33 pm (UTC)They're still at it when Goodnight passes through from the armory, greenshirts trailing behind like ducklings. Storm is bloodied, Snake limping. Fists and staves strike in an eyeblink, the impacts punctuated by brief flashes of hands signing something that's definitely not ASL. They've drawn an audience, including Jinx, who watches them with a set jaw and folded arms.
She glances over at Goodnight. When he draws close to ask what the hell is going on, she pitches her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
"They're arguing about you." In the background, Storm swings his weapon at Snake's head. Jinx sighs. "Welcome to the family."
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:34 pm (UTC)We’ve really diverged from your outline, huh? AU of the AU?
“The hell are they arguing over me for?” Goodnight snaps, unexpectedly sharp. “I’m no fainting southern belle. Or some prize trophy, neither.”
Jinx shakes her head. Checks again to make sure all the nearby greenshirts have wandered off to join the spectators. “But you are valuable to the Joes. To us.”
“Good to know,” drily in the extreme.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:34 pm (UTC)Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow disengage abruptly. The pair regard each other with resentful wariness, then Storm turns his back on his "brother". He stalks over to Goodnight, easy and relaxed, a half-smirk on his face, as if he's not dripping sweat, stained red here and there, and developing a host of fresh bruises to keep Goody's bite-mark company. It's familiar ground for Storm Shadow, defining himself by opposition. When he smiles at Jinx, his teeth are veiled in red.
He speaks low and quick, Japanese, something Goody doesn't catch. Jinx shoots her a cousin a Look that would split a lesser man's liver, then walks away without reply.
Storm breathes a laugh. Sucks his teeth. The smile he flashes at Goody gleams like a snake's fang.
"I asked if she wanted to fight me next," he explains. He's close enough to touch, but doesn't. "You look like you might want to throw a punch yourself."
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:35 pm (UTC)“You’ve never taken me for an idiot before,” Goodnight says evenly. “I’d hate to think you’ve started now.”
And no, he’s not gathered himself to strike, despite the tension in his jaw and the heated spark in his eyes, a stormy grey-blue today. Carrying more weight than the combined gazes of Snake, the greenshirts, a few Joes, and probably Goodnight’s god burning into Storm’s back.
He needs them all, yes. But somehow Goodnight’s the only one who matters, whether Storm’s ready to admit it to himself or not.
“You could try anyway,” Storm invites with a leer, letting his hands dangle by his sides, palms open, telegraphing as wide an opening as he humanly can. Half-curious as to whether Goodnight would try. He hadn’t heard the exact conversation within Jinx, but he can guess at the shape of it. Goodnight still has just enough pride left that it can be stung.
But Goodnight just sighs through his nose and shuts his eyes for a moment. “Of course you’re enjoying this, you perverse son of a bitch,” he says, the rancor already bleeding out of his voice, shoulders slumping.
Storm shrugs when he opens his eyes. “You knew who you were getting in bed with. Who you were flirting with for four months.”
Goodnight looks like he’s searching for an answer to that, jaw working, eyes narrowing. Finally settles on, “Yeah, guess I did. I’ll see you later.” Turns to go.
And then Storm does touch him. Reaches out at the speed of thought and stops him with two fingers, resting on his bicep, in the exact spot where Storm knows he left a palm-shaped bruise. Smiles a little at the way Goodnight inhales involuntarily, sharp and startled. He knows the gesture, the smile, and Goodnight’s reaction were all visible to Snake, the greenshirts, a few Joes, and probably Goodnight’s god - and by the way he’s flushing up his (unmarked) neck, Goodnight knows it too.
“I will see you tonight,” Storm says, low and pitched for Goodnight’s ears only.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:36 pm (UTC)Of Goodnight spread, covered, and filled in the dark of his room, riding the high of just being able to feel with someone else. So aching and elated with the promise of intimate satiation that the moment knifed over into fear. It would be too much. He wouldn't be able to bear the intensity of this completion, the vulnerability of it. It would break him into pieces after so long of letting sex be something done to him rather than with someone.
He'd striven no less intently toward orgasm, bucking up against Storm impatiently, but he felt the difference, that slip from desperately wanting to come for the man above him to longing for passing of the moment, to having the uncertainty over and done with.
He'd been pinned to his bunk a moment later, strong hands on his arms in a bruising grip. The pleading sound on his lips stilled by a firm, unhurried kiss. Then the lifeline of hot, controlled whispers in his ear. Telling him to relax. Guiding him back to himself. The firm grip that seemed as if it could hold him together against the force of a mortar round reassuring him all the more. All working in tandem to help him uncoil, to sink back into the pleasure of his body, not the doubts of his mind.
Flesh does as its told. And Storm Shadow speaks a language Goody's needed to hear for a long time now. Understanding without pity.
"I'll see you tonight," Goodnight says. Agreement, not acquiescence. And sometime before then, he and Snake Eyes are going to have a chat somewhere that doesn't involve making a spectacle of Goodnight's love life. Or whatever the hell it is he and Storm have just stepped into.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:37 pm (UTC)Storm watches Goodnight go, gathering up greenshirts like a Cajun pied piper, and decides, tonight. Tonight he’s going to leave marks that can’t be hidden under clothing.
“Warm-up. Albillar, you’re leading stretches today,” he says to the remaining murmuring recruits without turning his head. Decides also that he won’t bother to wash the blood off. It’ll teach them how to fight through the distraction and instinctive disgust of bodily fluids. It’s for their own good, really.
*
Snake stalks out of the arena as the greenshirts form up lines for stretching exercises. Catches Storm’s smirking eyes as he leaves, damn him. Bastard in every sense of the word. Watching the heat surge between Goodnight and Storm, palpable to even the most thickheaded among them, had been disturbing to the extreme.
This isn’t over, he signs to Storm, irritation bleeding through the sharp sweep of his fingers through the air.
Storm just smiles. “I’d be disappointed if it were.”
Snake scowls under his mask and wonders if this is what it’s like to have siblings. Bastard.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 04:38 pm (UTC)(BTW, I pulled four months out of my ass. Substitute the appropriate number of months that would work with your outline.)