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Chapter Text

Tselinoyarsk thrums with life. Its pulse comes in the form of birdsong, of chirping insects and croaking frogs intertwined with the sweet scent of bloom and rot. The only thing out of place here in the jungle is a figure stalking through the underbrush, the jingling of his spurs muted by the natural symphony as he prowls about.

An Ocelot never lets its prey escape. And like hell is he going to let his prey slip away so easily again.

He’s had his eye on Snake ever since that fateful first meeting during the Virtuous Mission. The memory is still as clear in his mind’s eye as the birdsong surrounding him — he knew the CIA had sent their own agent, but he never expected him to be an actual naga of all things. Nagas and similar demi-humans aren’t that rare in the military, but in most circumstances they were only really useful when operating in their appropriate niches. When they were put outside of those niches.. well, it wasn’t exactly a secret that a naga just wasn’t as efficient of a soldier as a regular human being could be.

Surely they’d known that when they chose him for this mission. With all those factors in mind, he assumed the naga didn’t stand a chance when he found himself outmanned and outgunned by his Ocelot Unit.

Of course, Snake was quick to prove the major wrong.

He moved like lightning given flesh and life, so fast that Ocelot almost struggled to register what was happening; one moment he was a hair’s breadth away from putting a bullet in him, and the next he’s being slammed into the dirt with enough force to knock the breath out of him before he could even realize his gun was jammed. Maybe he should’ve felt angry, humiliated, embarrassed for being bested so easily, but instead he felt only a strange fascination bloom within him as he observed the naga moving to deal with the rest of his men.

Snake didn’t try to grab and squeeze the life out of his enemies like any other naga in his position would’ve tried. Instead he used his body as a tool, adapting on the fly and never staying still for more than a second. He’d loop a coil around one soldier’s waist only to throw them aside and sending them crashing into a pile of crates, before whipping around and using his bulk to smash another soldier against an adjacent wall, knocking them out cold. He was efficient and methodical, and to Ocelot it was mesmerizing to watch. But looking back on the memory now, he realizes the fighting style is strangely familiar. He hasn’t spent much time with the Cobra Unit personally, but..

There’s only one other person he knows of that fights like that. One other naga.

By the time the major was just beginning to get his strength and bearings back, all of his men had been swiftly incapacitated, leaving him alone with his foe. In that moment Snake could’ve easily killed him, whether it was snapping his neck or simply squeezing the life out of him. But instead, Snake gave him advice. He critiqued (and even complimented!) his gun-slinging skills, suggested a revolver would be better suited for his techniques, and then left him to pass out as he slithered off after Sokolov.

So needless to say, he’s more than just a little intrigued about him.

He knows it’s stupid of him to go after a naga all by himself. But he’s confident in his skills, confident that he’ll be able to find Snake out here again. Besides, his men are out searching other parts of the jungle after he managed to escape through the fortress’s sewers and into the river. The excuse that it’s just in case he ended up somewhere else along the river is believable enough — Volgin still wants him alive, even if it’s just so that he can fry the naga to a crisp for laying his hands (or coils) on his dear little pet. 

(How Snake managed to successfully impersonate a human, let alone Raikov, is beyond him.)

Besides, he wants to be alone when he finds Snake. He needs to see him in action again, needs to see what it’s like when all that power and expertise is focused on him and not just a group of men. Maybe he’ll be fortunate enough to get another duel out of him.

It’s easy to track a naga if you know what to look for. Being stripped of his gear, Snake’s forced to trek through the wilderness effectively naked, letting his scales rub bare over the dirt — combined with his weight and size (nagas aren’t exactly known for being small or light), and it leaves Ocelot a trail of impressions in the soft earth that he can follow, like a convenient little path laid out just for him. It takes him deeper into the woods, where the scent of life grows ever stronger until he can hardly pick up on the polluting stench of nearby Groznyj Grad anymore.

The trail, however, quickly goes cold. The realization makes the major pause, frowning as he scans his environment for anything amiss. But there’s no further scale impressions, no trampled ferns or crushed branches to give his quarry away. He knows something’s up, especially when he realizes the forest’s gone silent now. A hush falls over the jungle, broken only by the hissing whisper of the breeze rustling through the canopy above.

…wait, hissing?

Ocelot looks up.

He barely spots the single blue eye leering back at him before something huge, green, and scaly comes crashing down right on top of him.

He’s sent sprawling to the dirt, hands reaching for his revolvers, but it’s already too late. Before he can pull his guns from their holsters he finds his arms being pinned to his sides by a loop of scaly muscle winding itself around his torso, followed by another, and another.

Ocelot lets out a frustrated growl, already writhing to try and break free of their hold on him. His legs kick out furiously in an attempt to snag his spurs on his attacker’s scales, but his efforts fail to prevent himself from being wrapped up further. The naga’s tail catches one flailing ankle before cinching it against the other, a few more coils quickly looping around his thighs and calves to bind them together before the whole length of muscle starts to squeeze.

A flash of panic sparks in his chest, primal and instinctive, which only has him trying to struggle harder against the mounting pressure on his body. But the more he fights against it, the tighter the coils become, until every breath he takes becomes a struggle in of itself. He wheezes as he’s forced into stillness, though to his immense relief his foe relents when he finally stops resisting, loosening his grip on Ocelot just enough to let him breathe easier.

Before he can stew in his irritation at having his ass handed to him so quickly again, the sound of scales dragging across soft earth catches his attention, and his frustration quickly melts into a warm fluttering sensation in his stomach when he sees Snake slither into view.

Snake looks only a little worse for wear even after taking a 50-foot dive into a surging river; some scrapes and bruises here, some scuffed scales there. Nothing that wouldn’t heal given time and maybe a shed or two. He’s satisfied to see the naga’s just as tough as he expected, though it doesn’t escape his notice that Snake’s looking a little weary. No doubt caused by a lack of rations, which Ocelot may or may not be responsible for. Still, even weakened like this, Snake is still terribly powerful.

He also doesn’t look too particularly happy to see him right now.

The naga’s tongue flicks out as he looms over Ocelot, the forked appendage waving like a miniature flag as he takes in the major’s scent. His eye narrows further with a displeased growl, loud and deep enough that he can feel it vibrating through nearly the whole length of his body.

“You smell like my rations,” Snake grumbles. “It was you who ate them all when I got captured, wasn’t it?”

Ocelot can’t help the smug look that crosses his face at the accusation. If he could, he would’ve raised his hands in a mock gesture of innocence. 

“What can I say? They were delicious,” Ocelot purrs. “Though, I doubt that anybody needs that many CalorieMates and ramen packs for themselves.”

That earns him a brief squeeze from Snake, forcing a strained hiss out of him as his ribs are compressed for a few seconds before he’s allowed to breathe again. “Nghh— seriously, did you manage to find Raikov’s stash or something? I don’t think even he had nearly as many as you were lugging around.”

“Maybe,” Snake replies with a bit of amusement to his tone now. “He should’ve done a better job hiding it.”

The naga leans in a little closer as he growls again, “Though my question is… what are you doing out here all by yourself, major?”

Ocelot realizes that Snake must’ve known he was being hunted by him from the beginning, that he must’ve been following him this entire time and he never even had a clue until it was too late. He was the prey here, and now he’s found himself in the grasp of an apex predator.

Any other man in his position would be rightfully terrified. Instead, he only feels heat pooling in his belly, a sense of excitement washing over him at the realization he’s at the naga’s mercy now. It’d be so easy for Snake to crush the air from his lungs, or snap every bone in his body like dry sticks — and some darker part of his mind almost wants him to try.

“Looking for you, obviously. Volgin isn’t too happy you touched his pet,” Ocelot answers, still smiling.

“His toy will be fine. But I don’t think you’re really here to carry out the colonel’s orders.” Snake’s eye narrows as he talks. “If you were serious about finding me, you’d be sticking with your men instead of having them fan out and search the river. Besides, your tracking skills need improvement. Between those spurs giving you away and how carelessly you were walking around, it’s like you wanted to be ambushed.”

“And what if I was?” He purrs.

Snake opens his mouth to continue only to be cut off by another growl, louder and deeper than before, enough that he can feel it vibrating intensely through his ribcage. His smirk turns into a shit-eating grin when he realizes the cause for the noise.

“What’s the matter? Having trouble hunting, Snake?” Ocelot teases, which prompts another snarl out of the naga’s empty stomach.

“Your men are out there scaring off everything bigger than a rabbit. I haven’t been able to find anything sustainable,” Snake grumbles. “And I haven’t been able to catch any fish, either.”

“You poor thing,” the major purrs. “Whatever will you do now?”

A surprised grunt slips out of him when Snake abruptly hauls him upright into a sitting position, the sound of scales rasping against fabric as the coils shift and pull him closer to Snake. The naga smells like a wild thing, of soft earth and river water and jungle vegetation, interlaced with a faint reptilian musk. Snake reaches down to start undoing the major’s belt, and he fails to suppress the shiver that rolls through him with how effortlessly he’s been manhandled so far.

“What am I gonna do?” There’s a strange look in Snake’s eye now, the slitted pupil now blown wide with something dark and wild and hungry. “I’m gonna find something to eat. And you're gonna help me until then.”

Ocelot can’t help but laugh out loud at the mental image that gives him, scrounging for fruits and small animals among the dirt and trees alongside Snake, though to be honest it doesn’t sound all that unappealing. “Help you how? You seriously don’t expect me to go foraging for you when you let me go?”

“Who said anything about letting you go?” Snake huffs.

By now the belt’s finally come undone, but when the naga pulls it off him he doesn’t toss it into the woods like he expects. His composure falters a little, a look of confusion crossing his features as he realizes he doesn’t actually know what Snake’s planning to do with him.

“What are you—“

“Hold still.”

At first he doesn’t understand what he means by that, and he starts trying to wiggle out of his grasp again. He freezes, however, when he hears a strange sound; a muted, organic pop, like a freshly dislocated shoulder. Snake’s jaw flexes, then unhinges like his namesake as his maw gradually opens wide, wider, wider.

Oh.

Oh.

Somehow, it’s completely slipped his mind that this was ever a possibility until this moment.

For a moment Ocelot’s frozen with shock as he takes in the sight in front of him. Snake’s jaws unfurl like a flower in bloom, the sight just as strangely beautiful as it is grotesque. He’s greeted by an expanse of pink flesh and stretched muscle, slick and glistening under a sheen of saliva. His teeth are similar to a human’s in layout and form, if a little pointier than usual, but there’s no missing the pair of viper-like fangs folded against his palate. Ocelot can’t help but wonder how it’d feel to have those slender daggers plunge into his flesh, pumping venom into his veins.

Sadly, he doesn’t get to admire the anatomy on display for very long. Though he’s about to become very intimate with it.

Snake lunges forward faster than he can blink, and the next thing he knows everything’s gone dark and wet and warm.

Any other person in his position would’ve started flailing, struggling, kicking, screaming, doing something, anything to escape the grasp of the monster eating them alive. A primitive part of himself still holds that same fear-panic response, but his growing arousal overrides that instinct. Ocelot remains still as stone, the heat in his loins sparking into a full-blown flame at the feeling of teeth digging into his skin, the forked tongue lapping at his Adam’s apple, the suffocating clutch of the darkness enveloping him. He can’t help but groan out loud, the noise swallowed up by the throat muscles squeezing and pulling him in with every rhythmic contraction.

He knows that, even if he wanted to escape this, there’s no point trying to fight against Snake. He was placed at the naga’s mercy the second he found himself caught in his crushing embrace — he’s still a little disappointed that he couldn’t have a proper duel with Snake without any interruptions, but in this moment there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

His curiosity and intrigue has turned into something dangerously resembling desire. And right now, there’s no better way to fulfill that desire than to let himself be drawn in further, deeper, closer into the object of his infatuation.

With Ocelot’s head lodged in Snake’s gullet, he’s left effectively blind and reliant on his other senses, now dominated by touch and sound. The tight-wet-hot sensation of Snake’s mouth and jaws enveloping him spreads down over his skull, then his neck and collarbones, the naga’s bottom mandibles unhinging further to take in the widest part of his shoulders. The contrast between the heat of his innards and the cooler air of Tselinoyarsk draws another shiver out of Ocelot, his whole world now reduced to the confines of Snake’s body.

He finds himself panting, both from the sheer heat and humidity and from his own excitement. He can feel himself starting to strain against his trousers now, causing him to squirm in a way that elicits another groan out of him when the naga’s coils squeeze him threateningly. The deeper he’s pulled down the naga’s gullet, the louder the sounds of his body become — by now he’s deep enough that he can hear and feel Snake’s heart right up against his ear through the esophageal wall, making his cock throb as he feels the wet pressure spreading down across his biceps, around his ribs and along his spine.

Something abruptly palms at the tent in Ocelot’s pants, causing his hips to buck as a surprised grunt slips out of him. The reaction draws a curious rumble from Snake, the sound and motion of slick peristalsis coming to a stop around him, and he quickly realizes it’s the naga’s tongue when it worms its way past his waistband and over the bulge in his briefs.

“Snake—“ He gasps out into the darkness swallowing him up, sucking him in. He can’t do much in this position other than squirm, his hips jerking to chase the stimulation against his arousal. The coils still clamped around his legs ensure he can’t writhe around too much — Ocelot realizes Snake must be toying with him, savoring this moment as he laps up the major’s pre seeping through his briefs. That suspicion is confirmed when Snake starts to loudly purr, driving his tongue under the straining garment to taste him properly.

With Ocelot’s other senses being heightened to compensate for his blindness, it leaves him incredibly sensitive to the feeling of the slick appendage wrapping around his cock. Combined with the vibrations rumbling through him and it’s enough to drive him mad.

A groan spills out of him, making him softly writhe at the wet heat enveloping his erection. The naga doesn’t waste time in tasting him — his tongue is surprisingly dextrous, long and flat and perfect for the task as he starts to work his prey, slowly stroking along the shaft while the tip explores him further. It traces the pulsing beat of his vein, following it down to cradle his sac before slithering back up to the tip, twin forks teasing his slit with a feather-light touch. 

With so much concentrated stimulation it doesn’t take long for him to teeter over the edge. He shudders and whines and mewls until the burning tightness in his belly snaps, and with a keening noise he spills into the dark. The taste of salt makes Snake purr even harder, drawing more sweet noises out of his mouthful of Ocelot. He lets the major ride out his climax for a little longer, whimpering when his pleasure turns into sensitivity as the naga’s tongue releases his dick. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed from the loss of contact. 

Then Snake starts swallowing again; a few thick gulps accompanying the contraction of muscle pulls him deeper into the slick tightness of his body. He whines when his hips — and his sex — are consumed by the constricting heat, rippling waves of peristaltic motion already starting to tease him again. It’s enough that he doesn’t even protest when he feels Snake starting to yank his boots off outside, no doubt to avoid being poked from the inside by those spurs.

Snake’s jaws glide over his thighs, the back of his knees. Ocelot isn’t an expert on naga anatomy, but he knows he’s somewhere past Snake’s ribcage and pelvis if the sound of shifting bone and ligaments is anything to go by. The esophagus of a naga is much, much longer than a human’s, their digestive system being contained within their serpentine half rather than the human half, alongside an additional heart and lung to support their elongated bodies.

Eventually he can feel teeth grazing over his calves, then the soles of his feet, and as the last of him is finally sealed inside the naga’s body with a final clench of muscle, only now does he start to slip into Snake’s stomach.

It’s roomier, but only barely so. The first thing Ocelot notices is the difference in texture — where the walls of the esophagus were slippery-smooth, here he can feel countless little folds making up the dimensions of the space, soft and pliable enough to almost forget about the powerful muscle sitting beneath it all. It’s already reacting to his presence before he’s even fully slid free of the esophagus, the flesh rippling around in in slow, wave-like motions, smearing something thick and clinging into his clothes, his skin, his hair as everything presses and kneads against him.

He sits there for a moment, letting himself recover from the near-overstimulating ordeal of being eaten alive while simultaneously processing what he’s just gone through.

He’s inside Snake. Truly, actually inside of him, tucked away within simultaneously the most hostile and vulnerable part of his body. His body is Ocelot’s whole world now, his senses being reduced to the dark abyss holding him close; he can hear and feel Snake’s breathing to his right, the slow inhale-exhale of his tertiary lung gently making the walls shift with every contraction, while to the left there’s the powerful rhythmic thudding of the secondary heart at work.

A part of him wishes he’d brought something to provide light, if only to satisfy his growing curiosity about Snake’s insides. For now he lets his hands explore the confines of his environment, imagining how it must seem to an outside observer. He’s likely nothing more than just an unidentified swell in the naga’s coils, easily mistaken for some animal unfortunate enough to fall prey to him, and the thought makes blood start to flow to his loins again.

“Snake..” Ocelot groans out again into the flesh, gloved hands curling into the slick folds to feel the pulse throbbing through. To his delight he realizes Snake must be able to feel him based on how his breathing hitches and stutters for a moment, the stomach walls contracting further to squeeze him, like he’s caught in the most nightmarish yet intimate hug of his life. Then everything starts contracting, shifting and pulling around him in a way that’s a little wave-like and disorienting before he realizes Snake must be moving somewhere now, no doubt to sleep off his ‘meal’. If he keeps his hands pressed to the walls he can feel the abdominal muscles at work carrying the naga’s bulk, “crawling” beneath his fingers in rectilinear locomotion.

He’s well aware of the possibility that Snake could actually be planning to digest him — a naga is more than capable of breaking down and processing flesh and bone, be it human or animal — but, oddly, the thought doesn’t bother him. If anything he’d find it something of an honor to meet his end like this; reduced to nutrients, just another source of energy and fuel to power the biological machine, the object of his fatal attraction. Ultimately he doesn’t know what Snake has planned for him beyond this, but at the very least he still has air to breathe in here.

For a while the movement continues. Then everything turns vertical for a few moments as the naga starts scaling something, which makes his head spin with vertigo from the disorientation of being in a pitch-black space. Mercifully everything soon turns horizontal again, though now he finds himself reclining on his back instead of his front, the floor sinking beneath his weight in a way reminiscent of a warm, fleshy hammock. Snake must’ve crawled up into a tree, letting the weight of his prey dangle as he lounges across a sturdy branch. The mental image draws a smile out of him.

The walls contract with the heavy, satiated sigh Snake lets out, squeezing Ocelot again and reminding him of the arousal between his legs. His hands shuffle around in the dark to properly fish himself out of his pants, letting the slick softness envelope him again as he starts to eagerly rut against the naga’s insides. The stimulation pulls a whimper out of him, but it seems Snake’s just as affected based by the huffing growl that vibrates around him. His sense of direction and gravity shifts again before something starts pressing on him, this time from the outside — he’s quick to realize those are Snake’s hands he’s feeling, kneading against the scales drawn taught around his swollen belly.

”Snake.. Snake.. ohhh..” His name is like a prayer on his lips, one that he chants fervently as he rolls into the slick heat swallowing him. His own hands press back, as if he could entwine his fingers with Snake’s despite the layers of flesh and bone separating him from the outside world. It doesn’t take him very long to find release in his second climax, a keening mewl spilling out of him as his hips rock against the folds until he’s too sensitive and spent to continue, slumping against the stomach’s embrace with an exhausted groan.

In the moments of quiet while Ocelot catches his breath, he can’t help but find this environment to be strangely peaceful. In here, it’s as if all the problems in the world simply don’t exist anymore; he’s nothing more than a suspicious bulge beneath an expanse of scales and muscle, a warm wriggling thing keeping Snake nice and full. Nothing will find him here unless he allows it.

The thought of being so thoroughly hidden from all the responsibilities weighing down on him, even if it’s just for a little while, is immensely relieving. In here there’s no Volgin breathing down his neck, no Ocelot Unit vying for his attention, no mission, no worries, no pain.

Only Snake.

With a sigh, Ocelot lets himself drift off, the heat and embrace of flesh lulling him to sleep.

Snake relaxes like this for a while, draped across a particularly sturdy branch while he lets the section of his body holding Ocelot sway gently underneath, the major’s boots and belts having been strung up on a smaller adjacent branch. 

He’s mostly just waiting to make sure his prey’s actually asleep before he risks trying to contact his support team, but he has to admit — it feels nice being filled, full of something warm and alive tucked into the deepest parts of himself. If it wasn’t for the mission at hand he’d be perfectly content to nap like this, with a nice full belly and the returning sounds of the forest to doze off to, though he knows sooner or later he’s going to have to find somewhere to ditch Ocelot and then start his trek back into Groznyj Grad.

Besides, he still needs to eat. Actual food, not the impromptu-“placeholder” that he’s using Ocelot as. He has no intention of actually digesting him; he’s mainly in there just to keep the gnawing pangs of an empty stomach from driving him crazy, at least until he finds something better.

A markhor or caiman would be nice. Maybe some arowana, if he can find a quieter part of the river where there aren’t as many soldiers patrolling. Or maybe some CalorieMates if a certain someone hadn’t gone and eaten them all…

Snake’s pulled from his thoughts by the familiar ringing chirp of his codec, prompting him to sit up a little from the branch and accept the incoming call.

“Snake! Where have you been?! We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for almost an hour!” Zero’s voice comes through the receiver in his ear.

“I had to take a little detour, but I’m fine. Had to avoid the Ocelot Unit for a bit.”

”Well, I’m glad to see you’re still holding up. They didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Yeah, I managed to stay out of sight. I haven’t been able to find anything to eat, though..” Snake grumbles.

“You have rations on you, don’t you? Either way you should be able to scrounge up something from the forest like before.” Zero replies.

“No, there wasn’t any food in my bag when I got my things back, and those soldiers are scaring off everything that I could be eating. I can’t just live off mushrooms and vine melons out here, Major.”

”Well, you’ll have to just make do until then, Snake. You still have a mission to finish.”

“I know. I just.. hit a bit of a snag. I’m still, uh, recuperating.”

”What do you mean?”

“I ran into Ocelot. Followed me all by himself. I don’t know why, but I think he’s got a thing for me. He even admitted that he’s the one that ate my damn rations.”

”Well, you don’t seem to be injured other than what you sustained from Volgin and the river..” Para-Medic cuts in, taking over for Zero. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I managed to deal with him. I’m just gathering my strength right now.”

”…Snake, you said you haven’t been able to find anything to eat, right?” She suddenly asks, voice taking on a suspicious tone.

Uh oh.

“No. The only animals I can find are barely big enough to be a snack for me.”

”So then why do your vitals show you as having recently eaten something pretty big…?”

“…Uhhhh…”

”Snake.”

“I… had Ocelot sort of help me out with my problem.” He finally admits.

A long, awkward pause.

”SNAKE. You— I can’t believe you!!” Para-Medic yells into his ear, making him wince.

“What?! I’m not going to kill him, I just had to get him out of the way!” Snake complains.

”So you ATE HIM?! Snake, I get that you have significantly higher caloric demands than a human, but you can’t just be eating people for food!”

“I’m just— I’m holding him, he’s fine! I just need something to keep my stomach from hurting until I can find something to actually eat—“

Para-Medic cuts him off with a loud, exasperated sigh through the receiver. ”Snake, I can’t believe I have to say this to you, but you CANNOT just be doing this kind of thing during your missions. PLEASE find something that’s ACTUALLY food and then SPIT HIM OUT.”

Sigint pipes up somewhere in the background. ”What’s going on?”

“Snake ate Ocelot.”

“…Oh hell nah, I’m staying outta this one.”

Snake just sighs.

So much for trying to relax…

Chapter Text

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