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Strange to Say (13)

1 .

Trying this again, after fucking up the formatting last night. I thought I would try reposting my stuff because some people kind of seemed to like it before? :T Yep.

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Strange to say, but in hindsight, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Sniper and I to become friends.

I mean that it was strange in that, well, it wasn’t as if our jobs brought us into contact with one another all that often – I could go entire battles without seeing, let alone speaking, to him. But off the field, after the fighting, we had drifted into a comfortable sort of camaraderie. For all that our jobs may have been wildly different, once you got down to it, we were actually pretty similar. Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself taciturn, but I didn’t run my head like Soldier or Scout, so it seemed when Sniper got the itch for conversation he knew where he wouldn’t get too much of it. And we had both spent time under big, endless skies – Bee Cave was plenty close to Austin, but between PhDs I had spent some time out in the west Texas oil fields. There were fewer animals that could and would kill you if given half a chance, but a lot more danger of being blown right up. And for all that his father might call him a crazed gunman, I don’t reckon there was anyone on the team more affable and easy-going off the clock. So we got on well, and as the months wore on, it became something of a habit for us to make out way up to the battlements in the evening, to drink coffee and talk. Sometimes I may have run off into technical details, and sometimes Sniper lost me when he went on about things more quintessentially Australian, but, well, that was alright.

Things started to go a little pear-shaped after everyone found out about Medic and Heavy – I’m not exactly clear on the details, but considering the noise Scout made about it, I’m willing to bet the kid walked in on them. But then, considering one of the parties was Heavy, there wasn’t much he or anyone else could do but make noise. (“Anyone”, in this case, was referring to the Soldier, who claimed the only thing worse than Commies and queers was Commie queers.)

“Just – fuckin’ CHRIST,” the Bostonian had eventually settled on, sitting between Sniper and me at dinner. “I mean, I know we’ve been out here for a while, but – God damn! Look, fatty I get, he’s so fucking big we’re probably all a pretty good substitute for whatever they call women in Russia, I bet they can’t be any uglier or hairier, but th’ Doc – he’s just a fag, ain’t he?”

“Well no one can question that logic,” I drawled, and while Scout obviously didn’t catch the sarcasm, I could see Sniper’s mouth twitch up into a bit of a smirk on the other side of the kid. The only reason I did was because I had been watching him for most of the meal; Sniper had seemed strangely subdued tonight, and it had started to niggle at me. But Scout had moved on to the apparently horrifying possibility that the Medic was the “man” in their situation, so I focused on him again, and said, “Kid, why the hell is this botherin’ you so much? You jealous?”

Across the table, Spy snorted. Scout sputtered, red-faced and embarrassed, but it shut him up.

That night, on the battlements, I looked over my cup of coffee at Sniper, and hummed, “So, never got your thoughts on today’s big news.” Even without being able to read the bushman’s expression terribly well in nothing but the glow of his cigarette, I could tell he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Well – hell, suppose it’s not my place to say anything at all,” he replied, at last, slowly. “’S their business, isn’t it?” Presumably he had assumed I wasn’t the type to bring it up at all; and it if were anyone else, he’d be right. But with Sniper I hummed again, nodding a little, and looked out to the RED base.

“It’s just – well, with how quiet you were at dinner, I thought maybe you might have somethin’ in common with ‘em,” I replied, at length, scratching my jaw innocently. Sniper choked a little on his coffee.

“Th – th’ hell, Truckie, what makes you say that?” he asked, when he had recovered. I chuckled a little, rolling my shoulders.

“Never heard you talk about a – Sheila, ain’t it, back home? Even when I mention ‘em,” I noted. “Fact you get pretty damn quiet when I do.” Sniper didn’t have an answer to that, so I went on, “’S not like I caught you peeking in the shower, or anything. Just, well, you know. And it’s not like I care any, either. Far as I’m concerned, what people do in their bedroom’s their own business.”

Finally, at last, the Sniper snorted, and I realized I had been tensed up, waiting to see how he would respond, only when I felt myself relax. “Not that I go around advertising it, but that’s not th’ reaction I get from most people,” the Australian admitted, eventually, and I grinned at him.

“Well, I guess I’m not one of ‘em,” I said, and moved on.


So there was that. I hadn’t really been looking to push the other man any further, so most of what I had was just theory: Sniper was homosexual, or at least attracted to men it a substantial way. And while I said I didn’t care, I was a bit perturbed to find I did care, or at the very least I kept thinking about it. I really hadn’t been lying when I said I didn’t have a problem with it, certainly; men get lonely out on the oil fields same as anywhere else, away from their homes and families and one errant spark away from a closed-casket funeral. And if it became more than convenient companionship to some of them, well, I reckon that was their business, and not mine, and there aren’t enough good things in this world to go around labeling things “unnatural”. Still, when it came to Sniper, my mind kept worrying at the information, like some new equation that I knew meant something, needed to be used somewhere important, but couldn’t completely figure out just yet.

So I put it out of mind, or tried to. Things seemed to get back to normal, and then Sniper stopped showing up for coffee. Not completely, granted, and not all at once: one week he missed a day, the next week two, but nothing else changed, so I was content to let it well enough alone right up until there was something close to a week of no Sniper. So that’s when I went looking, first to the base, and then out to the camper when that proved fruitless, telling myself I was just worried instead of petulantly upset I was being ignored. I never actually got to the knocking part, though – my hand was raised to when I heard what sounded very much like a moan from inside, and froze.

It happened again. Definitely a moan, and not one of pain.

I ended up standing stupidly for a minute or so, staring at the door. Well that explains that, I suppose. You’re not about to waste time hanging out with one of the boys when you had something like that waiting at home – okay, maybe in Sniper’s case the example didn’t work too well, but. By the time I kicked myself to stop standing around like an idiot lest Scout or someone show up and start making a real scene, I realized I could make out actual conversation, or at the very least someone talking, from inside. Leave. Keep right on walking, Engie; this ain’t your business. But with a quick glance around to make sure I was alone, I still ended up pressed carefully up against the thin door, listening.

“That’s right,” the voice was saying, and even muffled I could recognize Spy’s voice, low and rough. “You love it, don’t you? You can’t get enough of this, yes? Tell me, what would you do to have me fuck you right now?”

“Anything,” Sniper rasped back. “Anything, just – please –”

“Oh, bushman, so desperate. If the rest of the team could see you now. Beg me.”

I didn’t want to hear it. But still, it wasn’t until the Frenchman did something that made Sniper shout that I finally managed to pull myself away. I went back to my shop, and in a sea of blueprints tried to erase the memory of how wrecked Sniper had sounded, and how I imagine he must have looked.


The next day, I started watching Spy and Sniper. Spy – well, Spy was always a self-satisfied prick, but he seemed to have a little extra spring in his step, which I supposed was to be expected. Thing is, the same could not be said of Sniper. He looked like he was getting less sleep, but that was about all that had changed; in other words, he hardly looked like a man in a satisfying… well, whatever the hell it was, because if he and Spy were spending any time together outside of bed, it was the best kept secret on the base. It was frustrating, and it just got worse when the damned Spy apparently noticed me watching and started smirking all the time.

So I have to admit I was a little less than graceful when I finally got Sniper back up to the battlements and started out with, “So, Spy, huh?” Still, the way Sniper spit out his coffee was pretty amusing.

What?” the Australian said, then realized there hadn’t exactly been a lot of context with that query, and started trying to cover his ass. “I mean, me and – Spy what?”

I snorted a little. “Convincin’, buddy.”

“Yeah, Truckie, yeah,” he muttered, reaching up to knock his hat back a little and rub his forehead. “So how in hell did you find out, exactly?”

“Not important,” I replied, and I went on without giving him time to press the point. “What I’m wonderin’ is why? Unless there’s some evidence of him givin’ a damn that I’m missing.”

“Who says he has to give a damn, anyhow?” he asked, taking his hat off completely to run a hand through his hair. “Stress relief, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t much seem to be workin’ in your case,” I noted, dryly, and it made Sniper shrug up his shoulders.

“I take what I can get, mate,” he responded, sweeping his hair back and replacing the hat. “And that usually isn’t much.”

I couldn’t find anything to say to that, and the conversation didn’t pick up again. We parted early, that night, and that was the last time we met up like that.


I’m not the type to brood. It doesn’t do a lick of good sulking about things; I’d much rather get my hands dirty fixing the problem myself. Of course the problems I usually solved were practical, not messy collections of feelings I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to get sorted out at all, and so, for at least a few days, I brooded.

What I told myself, initially, was that I was Sniper’s friend and had no business getting that deeply involved in his personal life, even if his personal life, at the moment, involved a highly unhealthy arrangement that wasn’t even one-sided. But I had never been all that good at lying to myself, and even that damned Spy could tell, well – I was jealous. Because damn it, I wanted to be the reason Sniper’s voice went low and wrecked, I wanted to bring something good to the Australian’s life, something he wouldn’t just have to settle for. And the fact is I had wanted to for a while, which had obviously been a while too long.

So after the next battle, I caught Sniper coming down from his perch. He looked surprised to see me, but not nearly so surprised as when I wound a hand in his shirt, hauled him down to bridge our none-too-inconsequential height difference, and kissed him. Saying it was different than with a woman would not only have been cliché but a given; Sniper’s lips weren’t as soft, or full, and there was the unfamiliar rasp of stubble against my cheek. But hell, it was good, and when he wrapped an arm around me and kissed back, it made my stomach do something swoopy and embarrassing, which thankfully did not translate into an (overly loud) sound against Sniper’s mouth as I sank into him with relief.

But eventually breathing was necessary, as were explanations, so I broke the kiss and sank back on my heels again. Sniper was a little red, and more than a little shocked, but he eventually licked his lips and managed, “Truckie, what –”

“Even if it is just stress relief,” I answered, plenty red myself, “I was thinkin’ I’d like to be the one you got the relief from, if it’s all the same to you. Because I don’t want you to have to settle for what you can get – you should get to have what you want, and – well, hell, that may not be me, but I reckon I’m still a sight better than that damned Sp –” Which was where Sniper cut me off with a kiss. Which was possibly even better than the first time. And when we separated again, he was smiling, and I decided right then and there that I wanted nothing more than to make Sniper smile like that as much as possible.

2 .

Because sometimes stories do not come out the way you expect them to.

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A Sight Better


Let it be known that I do not make it a point to go out of my way for other people. But when going out of the way involves a great deal of sex with a surprisingly flexible and even more surprisingly submissive Australian, well, I can make an exception. It had still taken Engineer almost a month to even find out, let alone do anything about it; I fear how long it would have taken the man to get around to saying anything on his own. At the very least they had moved on from disgustingly doe-eyed looks at each other to giving each other hard-to-explain marks in Sniper’s nest, which was entirely more entertaining.

Ah, but it put me in an awkward position. I had rather grown accustomed to physical satisfaction in the course of events, which obviously eventually left me, as they say, “high and dry”. But… no. I shall not be as insincere with myself as I am with others; it had… been difficult… not to grow attached to Sniper. And I was not altogether sure I had managed completely. For all that he was a disgusting bushman… well, I had always been slightly more fond of him than the rest of the team; him and Engineer both, if I must be fully, nauseatingly, honest with myself. They were, at the very least, calm islands of relative practicality and restraint in the sea of incompetent morons. Our Medic… well, I suppose he was not that bad, certainly not as insane as most I’ve had the displeasure of having to entrust my wellbeing to, and his Heavy was not as powerfully, hide-the-cutlery stupid as the rest of his ilk, but they were simply so disgustingly involved they hardly had the time to notice there was a rest of the team. Demoman was a drunk, abet a relatively mellow one, and besides he normally palled around with the mumbling abomination that was Pyro (I will admit a fair amount of professional jealousy: I dislike anyone that can keep a secret better than me). And, of course, Soldier and Scout, prime examples of their classes. The only thing to admire about either of them was the surprisingly expansive collection of expletives and insults they had at their disposal; I’m quite certain they had fifteen different ways to call someone a homosexual where their sense of self-preservation should be, the both of them.

And so. There was Engineer, whose ridiculous accent belied just how intelligent he was, who spoke near-perfect French despite how his English sounded. And there was Sniper, not worldly, but practical, with a surprising appreciation for poetry, which made him smile in an odd crooked way when we accidentally stumbled upon a shared affection for E. E. Cummings.

It is at this point I suppose I must admit, if only to myself, that I was rather fond of the both of them. But being a Spy comes with a certain attitude, and I am aware of how others perceive me; for one thing, Scout never really seemed to have grasped the concept of an “inside voice”. It creates a certain distance, which is hugely useful, and, of course, hugely limiting at the same time. I know neither of them would ever have looked at me the way they did each other, so perhaps my methods were a bit… selfish. Perhaps I would not have necessarily been disappointed if the whole thing had been a disaster and driven Engineer away, leaving Sniper to me.

But of course it didn’t.

And so, amusingly, I found myself on the other side, watching Sniper and Engineer. At first, simply to see how things had turned out (perfectly, of course, who would expect anything less of me?), and then rather voyeuristically. And, embarrassingly, I got caught at it, in the dying hours of a late-autumn battle. Most of the team was making a hard push on the RED base, which left me free to stare at – ogle – watch Sniper in the golden light of the waning afternoon. I had gotten admittedly a little distracted by his profile when Engineer spoke from behind me.

“Don’t really recall you lookin’ at him like that when the two of you were sleepin’ together,” he said, and then chuckled a little when I jumped.

“Pardon?” I said as I turned around, mostly to cover how flat-footed he had caught me. It had been a month or so since he had acted on his and Sniper’s mutual attraction, and he hadn’t spoken to me – neither of them had – beyond what was necessary for their jobs. As much as I’d die before admitting it to anyone else, I had missed what little socialization I had been able to indulge in, so I was a bit shaken. That, and I was a bit impressed; I had no idea he could move that quietly.

“You heard me, Spy,” he drawled, crossing his arms and arching a brow at me. “Missin’ whatcha don’t have anymore?” Had it been anyone else, I imagine the comment would have needled at me, but Engineer lacked the smugness necessary for it to be a proper taunt; it simply sounded like an honest question. Perhaps that’s why I replied to it as I did.

“That would imply I had ever really had him at all.” And I could tell from the way his brows went up over the goggles that I had said a little too much, or my tone had given something away, but before he could ask that little electrical device he used to build things started to throw a fit. He cursed something about “sappin’ my sentry” and had to run off, leaving me to cloak and retreat to sulk in peace.


Of course, being Engineer, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. And so, after dinner one night, he tracked me down. At the very least, I was half-expecting him, this time.

“Laborer,” I acknowledged, tilting my head up so I wouldn’t breathe smoke in his face. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I reckon you know,” he noted, of course, because Engineer was not only astute enough to know he was right but direct enough not to pussyfoot around the issue. At the moment, I hated it.

“As extremely talented as I am, I am not a mind reader,” I told him. “So no, I do not.” He snorted a little.

“Not your best try, slim.”

“Have you got a point to get to, or are you here to attempt to belittle me? Because as much fun as this is…”

He rolled his eyes, but went on. “I’m beginnin’ to think that situation with you and Sniper wasn’t all it seemed to be,” he said, and despite myself I stared as he continued. “You stare at him like a puppy pinin’ for its owner, which I can understand, I suppose, if somewhere between pretendin’ to be a complete prick and actually bein’ a complete prick some part of you’s honest enough to admit you cared about him. But apparently you’ve been doin’ the same to me.” I pride myself on the fact I did not flinch when this was pointed out to me, though I imagine I didn’t have to for him to know he was right; of course the damned Sniper would have noticed something too. “And apparently the only reason that whole thing started was because you were spying on us beforehand, too.”

Well…

Shit.

It must be admitted that “that whole thing” had started with the words, “I overheard your conversation with the Engineer.” I could have said I simply followed them because I, too, had noticed Sniper’s reaction at dinner, which was not completely false but also a lie, because I had followed them because I wanted to, and not just that night. As I said, voyeuristically. It is, after all, my job.

“So for once in your life, Spy, be honest,” Engineer continued. “What the hell is this whole thing about? I’d think it’s a game, but fuck if you look too miserable for that.”

I started. “I look miserable? What are you talking about?”

“Like I said, pinin’,” he said, waving a hand as if it wasn’t important, but it was, because I did? And he had noticed? “Answer the question.”

“I… don’t see why it matters to you, Laborer,” I replied, eventually, finally flicking ash off the cigarette I had briefly forgotten. “All my actions did was call your attention to him, oui? What should you care why you have him now?”

“I care – wait.” Oh, hell. “Did you... You slept with him so I would notice?”

Where the hell did he get off reading me that well? “Of course not. I slept with him because he was warm, willing, and surprisingly flexible,” I replied, as flippantly as I could manage, which made him glare (though surely he would have noticed too, by now?), but apparently not for the reason I thought, because he repeated, “Honest, for once in your life.”

I finished my cigarette before I admitted, “Your noticing was… not unexpected.”

He rocked back on his heels a little, staring at me. “That’s – the hell, Spy, was mentioning it too easy?” I sneered a little.

“It was not exactly a hardship to find a reason to sleep with him,” I said, because it’s not as if the situation could get any worse. “I would have started with ‘because I thought he might be interested’ if it had been an option. But it wasn’t, so I took what I could get, and then bowed out to the better man. And that’s all there is to it.” He was still staring, not saying anything, so I took the time to light another cigarette. “Now, I imagine you are angry. But if it would not be too much trouble, perhaps you could hit me or what have you later, please? For now, I think I am going to call it a night.” I saluted him with the cigarette, and turned to leave. He did not stop me.


So that was it, I thought. Engineer did not come to punch me, which I assumed meant pity had won out in the end. In hindsight, it might have done me well to remind myself that the both of them were capable of punching (and shooting, and stabbing, in the one case), but as it was I made a rather undignified yelping noise when Sniper grabbed me after a battle and hauled me after him.

“Que-?!” I started, struggling a little in the grip he had on my collar and staggering along until I got my feet again. “What are you doing?!”

“Bloody spooks,” he muttered, shooting me a look. “For all that flowery language and damned talking you do, you have a real problem with just saying things, don’t ya? Just looking for a reason to play th’ poor romantic hero. ‘Not into blokes’ my arse.”

I huffed at him. “If you wanted to hit me, I’m sure we could have found an appropriate public arena,” I said, as he hauled me into his camper; I think it made him roll his eyes, but I was a bit too busy noticing that the Engineer was already in there as Sniper snapped the door shut after us. The Australian let go of me, and I took a moment to straighten myself out, retrieve my cigarette case, and throw them the most disinterested look I could manage. “Gentlemen. Aren’t I popular today?”

Now Sniper definitely rolled his eyes. “Look, Frenchie, I don’t exactly like being screwed around, and I definitely don’t like being made to feel like shit because you couldn’t get off your high bloody horse to admit you have a thing for me.”

“Us,” Engineer noted. “Especially because it doesn’t really give us a lotta options, does it? For instance,” He stepped closer, and I resisted the urge to step back, “Did ya ever give a thought to the idea that – even with the aforementioned ‘being a prick’ thing, one of us might be interested in you, too?”

“Or th’ both of us?” Sniper continued, arching a brow at me.

I stared. I was pretty sure I had had dreams that started out just like this, and degraded into sex pretty much immediately, though in them I usually said something more eloquent than, “Uhm?”

Engineer snorted a little, and stepped forward to take hold of my tie. “We’re givin’ ya the chance you never gave yourself, dummy. Personally, I’d suggest for once in your life, you shut up and let somethin’ good happen to ya.”

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. Engineer grinned, and tugged me down. Unlike my dreams, of course, the situation did not degrade into sex pretty much immediately. I found I did not mind in the least.

3 .

Unforeseen Consequences


It seemed that Engineer’s greatest talent, other than building things, was surprising me. For instance: of the three of us, the American was closest to plainly heterosexual – I am of the opinion that our, well, relationship was not completely a product of that “men have needs” bullshit that I fed to Sniper eventually, and that Solider and Scout use to explain what they do in Soldier’s room every other week. Engineer has too much self-control and too much respect for the both of us (yes, even for me, still) for something like that. Rather I think we are both, simply, exceptions, therefore when it came to sex, I admit I had expected Engineer to not be completely sure of himself; to need a bit of guidance, as it were. According to Sniper, this was, initially the case. But what I did not expect was, after that brief period at the beginning, the Texan would just… run with it, as Scout would say.

And so: I found myself on Engineer’s lap, on his bed, with one broad callused hand wrapped around my cock and the other working me open slowly, and I was clutching at him – the bed sheets – anything I could reach to try and ground myself as he murmured incredibly filthy things in my ear in French. Frankly, I don’t know who taught him how to say things like, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your name” in French, but at the moment I thought I would kiss them. Or kill them, depending on how much longer he was planning on delaying my climax, which – knowing him – would be until about a minute after I completely lost my damn mind. The situation was made no easier by the fact that Sniper was nearby, watching the both of us and stroking himself. Somehow, I was still capable of speech if not thought, so I managed to say, “You are – ah – c-content to s-simply look, then?”

I knew the answer. But I liked the way he licked his lips, the tone of his voice when he said “I like watchin’.”

“Even so,” Engineer drawled from behind me, voice low and rough, and did something with his hand that made me whine and arch back against him, head on his shoulder, so I didn’t realize the implications until someone – Engineer’s hands on my body were both very accounted for, but it still took me a second to realize it was Sniper – was stroking my jaw, making me open my eyes, to see he had come closer. His cock was jutting out of his open fly, and I was already leaning forward when Engineer murmured, “If you’d be so kind, darlin’.” Frankly, I was happy to have something to focus on that wasn’t the way the American was working me up and not letting me finish, though my body still tried its level best to come when he offered, “You know, I reckon I’d like to see you fuck him, Spy, if you’d be so inclined.”

Needless to say, I was so inclined. So we shifted – Sniper ended up kneeling before me, sans pants now, clutching at my hair as I continued what I had been doing, with the added inclusion of one, two, three fingers sliding into him. Engineer had stopped stroking me, though his other hand remained, and I still half expected to manage to come just from that in the impossibly long time before Sniper swore with more purpose and pulled at my hair and said, “Now, you bloody spook, just fuck me.” And I was hardly going to argue with that.

It was bliss, sinking into him, half kissing and half murmuring against his mouth about how wonderful he was, how much I adored him, in a confused mix of French and English. I still, perhaps, could have made a decent show of it, but when Engineer got involved again, pressed up against my back and sliding his hand down again, requesting permission as if asking me to get him a glass of tea, I knew things were going to proceed embarrassingly quickly.

And it did. Perhaps not as embarrassingly as I would have feared, but I was still the first to go, clinging to Sniper and muffling my cries against his throat. But they followed fairly quickly – Sniper first, and the way he tightened around my cock made my body do its best to climax again, somehow. And then Engineer, breathing praises in French and English against my shoulder. It took a little while, but eventually I managed to rasp, “So who can still move? Because it is not me.”

It turned out to be Engineer, who retrieved something for us to clean up with before we settled, sated and sleepy and affectionate. Which worked out well, that last one, because his bed was much too small for the three of us otherwise.

4 .

This post has been deleted.

5 .

Do Something Different


I awoke, aching slightly, to find myself tied to a chair by wrists and ankles, and immediately decided that, without a doubt, that was my least favorite situation to regain consciousness to. For a moment after I lifted my head and shook it, I was confused – the Engineer’s workshop was similar, as was the Engineer himself. The same stocky build, the same features, though at the moment he was watching me with a smirking expression of malicious intent that I had never seen on my Engineer. Even more jarringly, he had a Sniper with him, and the same could be said for him, that unnerving similarity touched with scorn. And of course – of course – they were both wearing red.

Though I am usually loath to lower myself to Scout’s levels, I couldn’t help but feel “well and truly fucked” had a way of describing the situation quite succinctly. Though perhaps, considering the way they were looking at me, this may have been an unfortunate choice of words. I responded by lifting my chin, and giving them both my best look of bored disdain. “Gentlemen,” I sneered, contemptuously, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The Sniper hit me, which I suppose I should have expected; it made the Engineer chuckle. “Well, I reckon it had somethin’ t’ do with the sneakin’ ‘round our base in the middle of the night,” he replied, and somehow he even sounded like my Engineer, which was absolutely terrible, given the situation. Even more horrible because the only time Engineer’s got near that low and intense was in bed, and this was perhaps literally the last place I wanted to be reminiscing about our last night together (which had been, damn it, in Engineer’s workshop).

“Well. It would seem you have me, as they say, ‘where you want me’,” I noted, arrogant as I could get. “What will it be then? Torture? Though I doubt the two of you have imagination enough between the both of you to even make things interesting. Ma foi! Why couldn’t it have at least been the Spy?”

The Sniper hit me again, which I did expect, since I was trying to get them angry. But as much as I hoped it might not have been the case, I could already tell this Engineer had the same patient deliberation as mine; I wouldn’t be able to get out of this by riling him up enough to kill me. I wouldn’t be able to get out of this, period, until he was ready to let me. And as much as I was trying to act condescending, I felt myself pale when he spoke again, tone as even and calm as it was when I woke up.

“Torture? Maybe for you, Spy,” he replied, reaching out to grab my tie. That made another thing that reminded me of Engineer; he was always hauling the two of us down, and the fond memory in this of all situations made my stomach lurch as he continued. “Just gonna be a little… recreation, for us.”

“We’ve seen you,” the Sniper added; he had shucked off his hat and his vest, and was unbuttoning his shirt. “With th’ two of them, I mean.” And apparently I could still pale further, because I did, heart thudding hard in my breast. “So the way I figure it, we’ll do.”

The Engineer pulled me forward for a hard kiss that made our teeth clack together; I bit at his lips when I recovered from my surprise, and he pulled away with a growl (oh, God, that should not have turned me on, not even a little) and grabbed my throat instead. “Not very neighborly of you,” he observed, undoing my tie as I choked, and finally releasing me to peel off my mask. “That attitude, and you’re not much to look at, either. They must be pretty damn hard-up over on BLU.” I responded by sneering at him, and he responded by grabbing my neck and kissing me again, until my vision swam.

“I’m thinkin’ he’s not really makin’ as much of a fuss as he could,” the Sniper noted. The Engineer had let go of my throat to open my shirt and waistcoat, while the Australian slid his hand down to my pants and – to my shame – found me already half-hard. “Heh. So those two aren’t enough for you, eh, Frenchie?” I snarled, bucking my hips up in an attempt to get his hand off me, and he grabbed the hair at the back of my head to yank me into a kiss. The Engineer twisted one of my nipples, hard, and I cried out, and that was just what the Sniper needed to ruthlessly thrust his tongue into my mouth.

I was gasping by the time he pulled back, flushed and grinning, to look me over; the Engineer had gotten my pants open, by this point, and I was not only exposed, but fully erect. “My oh my,” the Engineer commented, with a low, impressed whistle. “Helluva slut, ain’tcha?” He stepped back and the Sniper took his place, curling a hand around me, and it was so good and so goddamn familiar that I arched up into it, moaning helplessly and making him grin again.

“Beginnin’ to get what they see in ‘im, eh, Truckie?” he asked, tightening his hand and making me groan when I tried to snarl at him again. He kissed me, and then used the hand still in my hair to haul my head back so he could bite hard at my collarbone; marking me, just like my Sniper, and the reminder made me choke out a miserable cry.

“I reckon he’s got his uses,” the Engineer agreed, returning shirtless, with his overalls hanging down at his waist, to wrap his hand around my length as the Australian left off. The chair was low enough, and he was tall enough, that the Sniper could brace a foot on the seat and have me at about waist-level. It wasn’t exactly challenging to figure out what he wanted, even before he unzipped his pants.

“Let’s find out, yeah?” he said, grinning and running his tongue over a canine. I glared up at him defiantly, jaw clenched, until the Engineer tightened his hand around me with a friendly, “I’d best behave, if I was you, Spook.”

And so I let the Sniper push his cock into my mouth, grabbing the back of my head with a groan and rocking his hips forward. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of the man I would have infinitely rather been doing this for, and it was so miserably easy that I barely registered the Engineer untying my legs so he could slide my pants and underwear off along with my shoes and socks. However I certainly noticed it when he wrapped his lips around my length, and I certainly noticed when he roughly slid a (thankfully lubricated) finger into me. That made me struggle in earnest, which in turn made the Sniper yank at my hair and thrust himself hard into my mouth. I gagged, and he shuddered in pleasure, pushing forward once, twice, and then I was choking as he came without warning.

“Yeah, fuck, take it, you bloody Spook,” he muttered, finally releasing me only when I had swallowed it all. He withdrew and, tucking himself back in his pants as almost an afterthought, threw himself in a nearby chair to watch the Engineer and I with a smug, satisfied grin. I would have glared at him, but at this point the Engineer had gotten three broad fingers into me and stroking me with the other hand, and I was more than slightly distracted. I made an incredibly disgraceful whining noise of pain – pleasure – humiliation, at that point I didn’t know – when he pushed a fourth in, and when he curled them to rub my prostrate with absolutely brutal precision, I arched and shouted and spilled helplessly over his hand.

For a moment, I could forget I was tied to a chair in a strange place with strange men, at least until I came back to myself and found the Engineer smirking up at me. “Liked that, didn’tcha?” he hummed, and when I sneered at him he thrust his fingers into me again, making me whine.

“Oh, don’t go thinkin’ we’re done, yet,” he continued, and I realized, with a sinking feeling, that he fully intended to have a go at me as well. He withdrew, and wiped his hands on a towel, before, surprisingly, releasing my still-bound wrists from the chair. The relief, such as it was, was short-lived, because he wasted no time in trying my hands in front of me instead, with a, “I wouldn’t get any funny ideas, if I was you, either, Spook.”

Apparently keeping a bed in the shop for projects that ran into the night wasn’t unique to my Engineer; that’s where he took me now, pausing to shuck his clothes the rest of the way off. And then he took a seat, reclining back against the pillows at the head of bed and pulling me over him. How cute – apparently he wanted me to be on top. Over my shoulder, I gave him a look I hoped communicated how little chance of that there was, and he responded by wrapping a hand around my flaccid length and giving a squeeze hard enough to prove his point. “Soon as you get me off, this is all over and done with,” he said, sounding amused. “You get t’ go back t’ your side, safe and sound. So just be a good boy, how ‘bout it?”

I saw an opportunity to rebel and most of me – the Spy part of me – wanted to, desperately, but the part of me that wanted to get back to my Sniper and Engineer and forget this had ever happened was far stronger. So I obediently got myself into position over his lap – slightly awkwardly, of course, with my hands tied together, and then carefully lowered myself down onto him.

“Aw, fuck,” he groaned behind me, and his hand moved away from my length to my hip instead, so he could thrust up into me when I pressed myself down. Facing the room instead of the Engineer, I could see the Sniper watching us; his pose and predatory appreciation was so, so familiar, and despite it all my cock twitched and I felt myself responding again, as the Engineer fucked me and the other man watched.

By the time the Australian pushed himself up from his chair, both he and I were both fully hard again, and I was more than a little oblivious to the proceedings until he was in bed with us. “Oi, Truckie,” he muttered, low and rough and enough like Sniper to make me whimper, which turned into a surprised cry as the Engineer slid his hands up to pull me back against him.

“What – stop, what are you –” Doing, I was going to finish, but I realized the answer to my own question as the Engineer’s hands went under my knees instead, to spread my legs so the Sniper could move between them. I started struggling again, trying to get my legs closed. “No – non, stop, please don’t –”

“Settle down, Spook, just relax,” the Engineer murmured, kissing the back of my neck.

“Don’t wanna break ya, after all,” the Sniper continued, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance.

“N-no, please, it won’t – you can’t –” And then he was pressing in, impossibly slow, and somehow I was stretching to accept him and making a sound I had, likewise, not been aware I was capable of.

“Breathe, darlin’, breathe!” Engineer said, from behind me, reaching up to make me open my mouth and gasp. It seemed like an eternity, but in the end Sniper was in me completely, and we were all still and panting for a few moments until he finally withdrew enough to thrust in again.

After that I was lost, trapped between the two of them and so full it was somehow beyond pleasure and pain both. Engineer came first, shouting against my neck, fingers bruising my thighs, and when he had withdrawn Sniper grabbed my hips and thrust into me in earnest.

“God, yes, oh yes, you’re beautiful,” he was saying, at least when he made sense, and when Engineer wrapped a hand around my cock and Sniper gasped out, “Love you, love you so much,” I was finished, shaking and crying and barely cognizant of him following before I disappeared into blissful darkness.

I woke up again to someone stroking my face, and saying my name, and when I opened my eyes they were both looking down at me, obviously concerned. “’M okay,” I managed, with a smile I imagine translated into something around “well-fucked” in Scout’s unique parlance, and Engineer chuckled a little.

“Not doin’ this again if you’re gonna scare us like that, darlin’,” he said, punctuating the words with a soft, affectionate kiss. Sniper had untied me, and he was rubbing my wrists as he dropped a kiss on my shoulder as well, chuckling against the skin as I murmured, “Désolé. But you were amazing. And it was… fun, yes?”

“Hell, when isn’t it, Spook? Think I'd much rather have you beggin' us to fuck you, instead of th' other way 'round, though,” he added, biting gently, and it made me laugh and shift my hand up to curl in his hair and bring him up for a real kiss. In bed, with the two of them on either side – now, yes. I couldn’t think of a way I would rather wake up.

--------

Aaand that's it.

6 .

Oh damn I've been waiting for this to show up somewhere again. Wasn't there another bit at the end with some fluff? Please tell me there will be more.

7 .

So much deliciousness. So much.

8 .

You know what's kind of funny, in a sad way? I sat here and read through the whole thread, thoroughly 'enjoying' it, and the whole time, had this nagging feeling that I'd seen it somewhere before.

And then realized I ran across it on y-gall night before last.

You know a piece of writing is great when you can re-read it, and be blown away all over again.

9 .

First time reading this and I loved every second of it.

10 .

I have absolutely no idea what happened at the end. "Surprise, we just raped you but we love you!"
"D'aww, I love you too, rapists. Gimme a big hug."

If it were some weird kink thing where they switched uniforms or something, it coulda been a bit more clear. I loved the rest of the story, though. Loved it to pieces. Especially the parts where Engineer is feeling out Spy.

11 .

Yeah, there used to be more to this. The rape/abuse part was actually his own sniper and engineer wearing enemy uniforms after spy had stolen them and brought up the roleplay idea. there was also another "post war" chapter so to speak.

12 .

GOSH you guys are just too sweet.

Since I know I will fuck up the formatting if I try to link back; 10, it is as 11 says. If it makes it any clearer, I try to pretty consistently have Engie/Sniper/Spy refer to each other - and members of their team - as just Sniper, Medic, etc, while when mentioning members of the RED team (and not throwing in the RED designation), they call them THE Sniper, the Medic, and so on. Of course not everyone is as bizarrely nitpicky and anal retentive as me.

Also, re: the "post war" part, I wasn't happy with it, and I'm not even sure I can - or should - finish it, or if it would be bullshit no one wants to read. In any case, if I ever manage to get it into some shape I like and finish (or feel confident in my ability to finish) it, I'll post it. OTHERWISE, uh, I might have a couple other ideas bouncing around?

13 .

Yay, Fish responds!

Here's the thing; artists are always their own biggest critic. I can totally empathize with you not feeling that a particular work of yours is up to snuff, but you should know that us fans just want something to read, even if it's not your masterpiece. There can never be enough. If you've got more, I encourage you to share it with everyone, but so long as this isn't the last we hear from you, I'll be happy. Do whatever you feel is best.

14 .

*heavy breathing*
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