C8

>You hate the armoury
>you really do
>Sitting on the floor of your TLAV is a Fabrique Nationale Herstal C9A2 light machine gun, where you should have a rifle
>the armoury was, to quote "out of rifles"
>said the corporal in front of racks and racks of C7's
>yfw budget cuts yet again
>thanks liberal parliament
>you weren't even issued belts for the damned thing, because there's not usually a C9 in a support troop, just the vehicle weapons, C6's and the crew's personal weapons
>you'd just said fuck it, and taken the machine gun purely out of spite.
>now here you were with a belt fed gun and no belts.
>we bren gun now.jpeg
>you grab the short barrel from the bag, and fold in the stock, jamming a mag of blanks into the emergency feed.
>the gun has lost a few pounds and is now slightly "easier" to manhandle around your track, so you set her behind the engine, bipod extended, and prepare for a hardcore nap in the driver's seat.
>you awake to a quiet thud and a whispered "cocksucker!"
>shit, who's in your track and what do they want?
>you spin around to look at a very tall, very blonde woman rubbing her hat where you presume she bumped her head
>she's almost beyond tall, about 6ft 3, taller than you
>she's rather well endowed, and wearing black short shorts, CADPAT knee pads, and an unbuttoned red flannel over a black tank top that barely contains her assets, themselves in a black lace bra
>"it's impolite to stare, you know"
>oh. Shit.
"Uh, hi. You must be the C9, I presume"
>"oh, um... Yes, yes I am"
>as you fumble for words, she looks around, ducking carefully to not dislodge her Oilers hat.
>"this.. Uh, this isn't the armoury, obviously. May I ask where we are, and why I'm in a track of some kind and not on the roof?"
>you quickly explain the situation to her, avoiding the part where you were reluctant to take the MG
>"so what are we up to on this excercise? I, uh, I've never been with an armoured unit before"
"I'm the Major's driver, but the major is at a golf tournament in Quebec, so mostly driving from hide to hide for a month."
>as you speak, she moves from the seats on the wall to simply sitting on the hull floor, leaning against the ramp, so her head stops hitting the roof.
>you stomach growls, obviously ravenous for some primo IMP's
"You hungry?"
>As the LMG tears into a new(ish) poutine ration (FUCK YOU LET THE QT STEAL YOUR CHEESY CURDS AGAIN), you place yours into a heater package and wait.
>"where's the cornbread?"
>as far as you know cornbread has been a breakfast only option for a few years now
"Hasn't really been in rations for a while now."
>"oh. It's.. Uh, it's been a while since I got out last.."
"Why not?"
>"well, the armoury at an armoured regiment usually doesn't have C9's, and you don't use them much."
"So how long has it been?"
>she looks gloomily into her poutine
>"about two years"
>oh wow
"Oh wow.. That's, uh, quite a while"
>"yeah, tell me about it."
>you stammer out an apology
>"no, no, I shouldn't be so bitter."
>she looks even more depressed
>you should do something
"I mean, you're here now, right? May as well make the most of it.
>"yeah, I guess so.
>she brightens, slightly.
>"Say, you have any cards?"
>several hands of bullshit later, the two of you have gotten to know each other a little better
>she's got a perfect poker face
" say, you never have told me your name."
>"oh.. Uh.. It's Olivia.."
"Huh, pretty name for a pretty girl."
>she scoffs, but still blushes slightly.
>you decide it's time for refreshment, and begin to root behind the seat rack for your stash.
>you produce a bag of pretzels and a four pack of monster
>Olivia's eyes light up at the canned heart attack
>you can't turn down a fine lady like that, even for your habit.
>accepting the offered can, she cracks it and downs what must have been half the can in one go, without pausing.
>she then proceeds to have the most ladylike burp you've ever seen, covering her mouth with a hand
>"uh, excuse me"
>CUTENESS CAPACITORS AT MAXIMUM
>taking a drink of your own, you fumble in your pocket for a tin, and proceed to take a generous pinch
>"qu'est que c'est?"
>"is that Copenhagen? Would you mind?"
>slightly surprised she dips, you offer her a pinch anyway, and hand her a nearby plastic bottle as well.
>"I, uh, may have picked up the habit from the infantry.."
>you are both startled slightly when the commanders hatch opens, and your favourite arty faggot yells "lights out bitch! We're getting forced rest!"
"Fuck off Malcoms!"
>"eat shit anon!"
>forced rest? You've been out for like, 17 hours maybe? Doing fuck all at that.
>whatever, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you unlock and upend the top hatch in the cre compartment, grab your valise, and pop back in, buttoning up.
"You catch that Olivia?"
>she spits into the bottle
>"yeah, sounds nice."
>you unpack and unroll your ranger blanket, and grab your neck pillow (that everyone gives you shit for but is comfy as fuck) from behind the seat, and ditch your tunic and boots.
>Olivia ditches her flannel and hat, setting them on the hull below the seat and proceeds to lay down.
"You sure you'll be comfortable up there?"
>"uh, yeah, thanks though anon"
>you reach up, killing the cabin light, and begin to doze off.
>maybe half an hour later, you stir slightly as a shape larger than you presses to your back and curls an arm around you
>oh.
>you're little spoon.
>after a moment feeling the nice, firm LMG assets pressing up against your back and her thicc thighs on your behind, you decide that's just fine.
>you pass out with a tuft of blonde hair in your face.
"Ugh"
>you awake about eight hours later,
draped in some sort of blanket.
>why is your blanket snoring cutely?
>cracking your eyes, you almost have a heart attack at the adorable sight.
>Olivia is draped over you, an arm and a leg pulling you closer into her
>your face is totally in her tits btw
>she's stripped off her shorts, leaving her in just her tank top and a set of cheeky, black, lace panties.
>tactical snuggle is a go, I say again, tactical snuggle is a go.
>you carefully thread an arm around her, and pull both of you closer together
>your nose is to her collarbone, and her hair covers your head
>"you know anon, if you liked my boobs that much you could have just asked
>oh shit.
"I, uh, um. I.."
>she lets out a giggle
>you're then pulled into a crushing hug.
>"this snuggle tactical enough for you?"
>fuck
>you said that out loud
>autism.jpeg
>you slowly drift off again in her arms.