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CatDetective fills requests and whatnot (150)

1 .

Okay, general intro-- Figured I'd make a thread to put my request fills in so that they don't get lost among the requests themselves. And maybe having a thread to put them in will motivate me to fill more requests, I don't know...

Captcha says 'ningican reputed', which makes me think of a ninja magician. This is not relevant, but if it was a movie, I'd watch it. Okay, porn now:


Combining two prompts into one fic first off.

first prompt: Invisi-spy sex.

That'd be right interesting.

That is all.

second prompt: Sniper/whoever in Sawmill. Rain + sex = yes.

So if you want to get your invisi-Spy peanut butter all up in some rain-soaked Sniper chocolate, then I've got two great tastes that taste great together for you. (And by now, I'm sure plenty of you know I've got a weakness for crossfaction Sniper/Spy...)


He should be back at the base. Living quarters have been open for hours now, and he needs to get some sleep before it all starts again. Instead, he'd gone out on the makeshift catwalks that litter the battlegrounds of Sawmill. He thought this much rain would get depressing after a while, but he still loves it, doesn't mind the soaking he gets when he's out, as long as he can keep watching it come down once he does get in.

He's made his way into the heart of the mill itself, to stand in the gaping doorway and watch the silvery rain drive down through the night, each drop pelting and darkening the earth, all of it cold and sweet. He'll dry off eventually. It wasn't too bad a soaking, and after all, he'd spent most of the battle with a roof over his head.

It's not any one sense that picks up on the presence of an intruder. He doesn't hear any approach over the saw blades that never quit spinning, he doesn't see anything out of the corner of his eye or smell any of the telltales-- the scrumpy of a demo, the iodine of a medic, the gasoline of a pyro or the machine oil of an engineer. No whiff of tobacco smoke or bologna, nothing. It's just a raising of the hairs up the back of his neck and down his arms, just a feeling in his gut.

But he's learned to trust that.

When he lashes out with the kukri, he doesn't hit anything, but he feels a whoosh of air like someone spinning away, and it's a narrow miss. The Spy doesn't appear, but his cigarette does, coming out of thin air.

"Sacre bleu! Don't do that!"

"Then show yourself, you bloody sneak. If you're on my team, you got nothing to worry about."

"I didn't come here to hurt you! Put it away!" No visible Spy is forthcoming.

"I wasn't born yesterday, mate." The Sniper snorts. He can't even see the shimmer of refracted light, and he thinks he's looking in the direction of the voice. There ought to be a hint, if it was his teammate he was talking to. Moreover, if it was his teammate, the man should have just decloaked when he asked him to.

"They turn off the respawn at night. Please, put the knife away."

"They do not."

"At Sawmill they do. The moisture in the air makes it unreliable. Why do you think so many of our battles are fought in the deserts? It has to rest at night, they only run it during the battles. Your Medic and Engineer will know this, and perhaps your Spy as well. They do not tell the rest of you perhaps for morale, though maybe they should."

He thinks about the chances of Demo getting drunk and wandering into a saw blade after hours, or falling off a roof. Thinks about Scout making or taking stupid dares under the assumption he's invincible.

"Yeah. Maybe. You know I might tell them? You know that might not be so good for your team."

"Maybe, but right here and right now, I... It was important to me that you know. I would rather not come to an untimely and permanent death when I am posing no threat."

"When you say you're posing no threat."

"Believe me, I do not wish to cause your permanent death, either. I've grown comfortable with this war... if we never die and it never ends, we all keep getting paid..."

The Sniper can't see the Spy, but the shrug in his voice was enough. He can imagine the posture, the expression. He can see the trail of water, the few gathering puddles.

"All right. So. What are you doing out here?"

"Taking in the scenery." The Spy's voice is wry. "You?"

"Like getting out by myself. Like the rain. Don't always get to see much of it."

He hears the click of a lighter, smells the smoke he hadn't smelled earlier.

"Do me a favour." The Spy says, and he breathes out a cloud of smoke that's visible even when the man himself is not.

"Why should I?"

"Because, I have given you this knowledge. Perhaps it was disastrous. It could be a tactical advantage. It could mean the after-hours slaughter of my allies."

"You think you'd escape?"

"I know I would." A dark chuckle. "It is a small thing. I will make it worth your while, if the reward of information is too... impersonal, for your tastes."

Something in that twists at Sniper's stomach, in a way too pleasant to be at all good. "I'm listening, but I'm not promising."

"Take off your vest."

"That it?" He shrugs out of it, tosses it down so it can dry a bit, spread out on the floor past the open doorway where gusts of wind might send rain inside.

"And step out into the rain, please."

"... Gotta say, mate, your fiendish plan to give me pneumonia is just about the weirdest thing I've encountered this whole war."

"And I will do the same. Come with me, just this far," The sound of the Spy's voice moves past him, and then he can see the outline of the man, rivulets of water running down his invisible form.

The Sniper walks out, so that he stands as far from the doorway as the Spy does, but not within arms' reach of the man.

They stare at each other a while-- at least, the Spy seems to be staring, and Sniper is doing his best to-- and then the Spy nods and steps back indoors.

Sniper follows, watches the dripping puddle form beneath him, watches the shining wet outline disappear.

"Well that was a pointless exercise."

"Was it?" There is the sound of fabric being shaken out, flying drops of water, then the Spy's blazer appears, landing with a wet smack on the boards near the Sniper's vest. "You should get out of your wet things."

That's when the danger bells go off, worse than the danger of a potential fight for his life. The drips of water are coming nearer, and he's frozen in place.

"Let me help you," The Spy whispers, breath hot against Sniper's cheek.

He shoves out, blind, panicked, and there's a loud cracking puff of smoke. The Spy appears, bewildered and embarrassed, landing hard on his backside.

He collects himself, hits a button on his watch and disappears even as he shrugs the outburst off. "It was worth a shot."

"Get back to your base, right now, and never even think about mentioning tonight again, to me or to anyone, and maybe I won't tell my teammates they can murder you lot in your beds, but if you put your hands on me, I'll pitch you into the damn saw myself."

"No you won't." The Spy laughs. "I have looked into your eyes when we fight, cher. And the other day when you pinned me to the wall, before you slit my belly open, I felt you. Hard."

"That was adrenaline!"

"Oh? Not the nearness of a warm body against yours? After all... it gets lonely out here. And I am attractive."

"You're a man."

"Yes. You like that. I have known... I have seen the sight of your rifle on me and not been shot."

"I wasn't looking--"

"Like hell you were not. You would just leave your rifle lying unattended? It is like a limb to you on the battlefield. You have been watching me. You have been enjoying the cat and mouse game. And you think maybe if at the end of it, you kill me, then that will exorcise these demons? But you cannot murder lust, no matter how many times we fight. I die, your desire does not. I am saying you do not need to hate these feelings. I am the same way."

"I'm not..." He takes another step back and feels water trickle down the back of his collar from a notch some bullet's carved in the eaves overhead.

"If you do not want to face it, I am flexible. Go ahead, try and pretend I am a woman, when I have my lips wrapped around you. I will stay invisible. You can hide from yourself a little longer."

"You can't stay invisible." Sniper crosses his arms over his chest and shivers, but he stays out in the rain. "Not if we're touching."

"If it's gentle enough. A nice little side effect, of some tinkering I asked our engineer to do. We were hoping it would keep the cloaking device active even when I am bumped-- say, in narrow corridors, where Scouts are all speed and elbows. As you saw, the success is... limited. If I am jarred, it will cease. But if I am slow... if I am the one touching you... if no one dies... Yes, I can."

"Suppose I go back and tell my team about that development?"

"It is useless on the battlefield. And nowhere near as treasonous as the other things I have told you. I desire you as well, you know. I am as affected by our struggles as you. I have passed on better targets for the chance of grappling with you even knowing I would be more likely to lose. All the sentries unsapped because I wanted to feel you against me... You won't have to see me, but I am willing to wager I will be the one you think of, no matter how hard you may try to picture the ladies."

Sniper's arms drop, he takes one step forward, Invisible hands brush his chest, slow and barely touching, but the cloak barely ripples as the Spy removes his shirt.

He's hard by the time those hands open his trousers. The whole time, as he feels the heat and the slick pull of suction from the mouth around his cock, all he can see is himself. It's hypnotizing, watching the way his skin moves, watching the way the water that drips down his stomach leaves his skin to roll over an invisible thumb, the way spit and semen appear only to disappear just as quickly, swallowed down.

It's amazing, but there's a traitorous part of him that thinks it would be even better to watch the Spy's face, to see the other man just as wet.

"Fuck..." He whispers, grabs onto the back of the other man's head just hard enough to make him appear, shoots the last of his load when he does.

The Spy pulls back, licking his lips, then picks up his discarded blazer and pulls out his cigarette case and lighter.

"Do you smoke after sex?"

"Dunno. Were we on fire?" Sniper jokes weakly.

Spy laughs and places a cigarette between the Sniper's lips, leans in closer than he has to to light it. Sniper seizes the opportunity-- he's come this far-- and cups the bulge in the Spy's trousers when he does.

The Spy moans and bucks into his hand, only a few times before he comes as well.

"Hm. That was embarrassing." He lights another cigarette. "But... fun."

"I come down here most nights." Sniper says, picking up his vest. He should get back to his base. He still needs a good night's sleep, and he feels like he could get one now. Besides, he knows where he'll be the next night.

And now, so does the Spy.

2 .

that was hot!

3 .

This was fantastic! I really want you to continue it, I just find it very...hot. Nice job writing it! It caught my attention the entire time, not just because it's smut, but because your attention to detail.

I love the Sawmill map too, great choice. Heheh.

4 .

I love this! This was wonderful! Another great story. Invisisex is a wonderful thing.

5 .

I am drooling, good author. As the Heavy would say, "That was delicious!"
On another note, I certainly wouldn't mind seeing more installments of Rainfall, even if it is intended to be a one shot request.

6 .

damn, that was incredibly hot. nice blending of requests, fufufufu!

7 .

Hot damn

Please. PLEASE. Write more to this. This is my favorite pairing-- and you are shaping up to be one of my favorite authors!

I crave your writing, and this. THIS. Needs more this. Get.

8 .

Thanks much, all! I'm all ablush and atitter. May get around to writing more Wet Hot Franco-Australian Sawmill...

For now, I just saw this old request and it sparked my imagination, so... Now for something completely different:

Prompt: I'd really like some post-apocalyptafic; I'm surprised to not have seen any.

It should be an AU with zombies/killer viruses/nuclear winter survival/velociraptors - whatever; it doesn't actually matter so long as the consequences are global and government has collapsed.

I want it to be Heavy/Medic-centric, but add as many pairings as you like. Maybe everyone knows each other; maybe they start off as one or two individuals and pick up more people as they try to escape the cities. Doesn't matter.

Ultimately, I want a heart-stopping love story in the midst of societal collapse. It doesn't have to be an epic or anything like that, but I wouldn't say no to one.

Thanks in advance to whoever you are!


(Here I immediately wanted to write a zombie apocalypse and then realized I could never approach the heart-rending glory of RotD, so I went with a supervirus)

(also, I should ask now: Would it take everybody out of the story if the characters eventually share their real names, since y'all may have headcanon names of your own, or would it take everybody more out of the story for a group of post-apocalyptic survivors to never tell each other their names? Because I can leave out names if it would bug people, certainly, but to me in this kind of scenario it would seem weird at least for those characters who become-- coughcough-- intimate with each other to not let their lover know what to call them...)

~~~ The Edge of Doom ch.1~~~

They were lucky to be out in the middle of the desert when it happened, and not close to civilization, not even close to Teufort for once.

The radio makes it clear the situation is serious. The radio makes it particularly clear that the situation is serious on the morning that the Scout turns it on to find nothing but static.

The war 'goes on hold', the first day after the radio stops coming in. Respawn stops working the day after that.

A week after the radio fails to bring in anything at all, the BLU team makes a formal invitation to their old enemies. The BLU base does what the RED base cannot, it's capable of a full lockdown. And the medical lab is brighter, cleaner.

It's awkward at first, the eighteen of them living under one roof, but safer in the wake of this new world, to be allies and not enemies.

Three days after the merge, the two Medics call a meeting.

"We need to go out. We need to find someone living with the disease."

"CRAZY TALK!" one Soldier shouts.

"What makes you think anyone's still alive?" A Sniper asks.

"There will be people, in small rural towns, where there are miles between neighbours. Where the disease has only spread of late. If we can get the blood..." The RED Medic explains, desperation edging into his voice. "Maybe between the two of us..."

"Maybe it is not possible to find a cure." The BLU Medic steps in. "Not for those who are already sick. But we could find a way to keep those who are not from developing the symptoms. We could at least inoculate ourselves!"

"Eighteen men." An Engineer snorts. "Don't say much for the future of the human race."

"Maybe not, but it is something! No, we cannot repopulate the earth, even if half of us were women we could not do that! But we can survive! The eighteen of US could live out our lives! Or we could huddle in this base until the combined supplies from our two teams are depleted."

"Doktor..." RED's Heavy comes forward, placed a hand on his Medic's shoulder. "Is this safe?"

"Well... No. But neither is the alternative. Are the risks not worth the possible reward?"

"That is all very well." The RED Spy steps out of the shadows. "But who is to bell the cat, hm? Do you propose to go into the nearest town yourself, Medecin? Will you walk among the lepers?"

"If that is what is necessary, then yes." The RED Medic pushes his glasses up his nose bridge.

"Nyet." His Heavy pulls him back. "Doktor... I need to talk to you."

"Someone must--"

"Hurhm." RED's Pyro raises one hand. "Hurkrh shrmhrhr."

"That could work." RED's Engineer leans forward. "Doc, could you-- Uh, one of you-- Could you teach Pyro how to take enough of a blood sample? Breathing through that mask, he's got a chance."

BLU's Medic nods briskly and takes the Pyro by the elbow. "Sehr gut. You will come with me to the infirmary, I will show you how. Anyone who wishes to be of help can come along, I do not know how many times our mumbling friend will need to practice before I am comfortable sending him out for the samples. I may not have enough blood to donate to the cause."

He giggles a little at this, and after an uncomfortable pause, BLU's Heavy and both Soldiers follow.


"What did you need to talk to me about?" The RED Medic locks the door to his new colleague's inner office. On the other side, their counterparts are demonstrating the proper technique for a blood draw, but with the door closed and locked, the inner office has privacy enough.

"If this is dangerous, then... I understand we cannot live for long like this, but... You will be careful? When you are working with this blood, you will always be careful?"

"Always. Between the disease and the failure of the respawn system, I cannot afford to be cavalier about procedure..."

"Promise me Doktor will not get sick." Heavy grips both the other man's shoulders, firm but not so hard as to hurt.

"Kein Sorge. I will not get sick."

"If you do... How bad will it be? From reports on radio, you know some?"

"From the reports on the radio? It is likely excruciating, until the brain is dead. But there is a long incubation period, there will be time to keep working even if symptoms begin to show."

"If we get sick... If we get so sick Doktor cannot work anymore, then... If you ask, I-- I can use shotgun, if you ask. If we cannot have cure in time. You have to decide this, you will know when time is... when sickness is too bad?"

"Of course, but-- Without a host, there is no disease, and the Pyro will be all right. He will have his mask. Please, don't worry so much. We will be able to inoculate, then none of us will be sick. Then we can try to cure others, if we can find them."

"I worry. I... I love you."

Medic's jaw drops.

"Izvini'te-- Sorry. I should go. Did not mean to upset Doktor..."

"No! Wait--" He grabs onto the hand that drops from his shoulder. "You love me?"

"Is problem. I know. I thought... I thought now, if-- if there are no women, maybe is not so bad, but..."

"It is not a problem, not to me. I-- Yes, it, it would be, if any of the others found out, but it is not a problem to me."

There is a commotion on the other side of the door, and both men freeze, until the main infirmary quiets again.

"Maybe should go volunteer to help." Heavy coughs. "We have been talking long enough, you think?"

"Almost long enough." Medic corrects. He presses a quick kiss to the back of the big hand he still holds. "We can... talk privately again, later?"

"Da," Heavy tugs him close, kisses his forehead softly.

Then they pull themselves back to a respectable distance, and open the door.

"Ah!" The BLU Medic grins. The Pyro is already the one brandishing the syringe, and the BLU Heavy and both Soldiers are sporting several adhesive bandages each, and sour expressions. "Have you come to offer yourselves up? Arbeit adelt!"

"Ja, aber wir bleiben lieber burgerlich." The RED Medic smiles, eying the Pyro with mistrust.

"You are going to have to stop speaking German." One of the Soldiers-- indistinguishable at a glance without their uniform coats on-- barks at the two.

"I was saying," The BLU Medic coughs. "Work ennobles. And this... this smart aleck! He would prefer to remain middle-class."


The RED Heavy laughs. "Fine, Doktor will be baby. I have much blood for practicing."

"I am not being a baby, I am being prudent." He tuts, swabbing his Heavy's arm before turning him over to the Pyro. "I do not function well if I do not have all of my blood."

This is not entirely true. In the heat of battle, he often doesn't notice his own wounds, sometimes even until it is too late. In the heat of battle, his focus is on healing the others. But, when there are no bullets flying and teammates yelling for him, it is a little different... He prefers not to lose any blood when greater matters do not distract.

The other subjects mutter enviously when the Pyro finds a vein right away-- none of them had been so lucky-- and the draw goes well.

"I think he's got it!" The BLU Medic takes the new vial of blood from the Pyro. "Excellent, my boy, I will put this with the others. It might not be such a bad plan, to have a small reserve for emergencies now."

The RED Medic sees to his Heavy's arm, tears a cotton ball in half and places one side under the pad of the adhesive bandage.

"Press, or you will bruise."

"I do not bruise so easy." Heavy laughs, but he presses anyway. They smile at each other, and even with the horror of the situation they all faced, they both felt overwhelmingly happy, if only for the moment.

To the others, it doesn't even seem out of place. The Soldiers have discussed it between themselves, and believe that at least one Heavy might be part of a commie plot to develop mind-powers, and if he spends a long time staring into the doc's eyes, well maybe it's because the Medic isn't a strong-willed American and can't block out the psychic messages.

"He'll be a red in a week." The RED Soldier snorts.

"He's alread-- Oh. Right. Yeah, you can tell by the dopey smiles. That's how you look when they indoctrinate you. He's probably been putting flouride in the Doc's coffee for a while now... that's why his brain's not putting up a fight."

"Not that I guess it matters now. If the world's over, we might all be communists. Think about it."

"That does sound like something that could only happen if the world ended..." He muses, before shrugging back into his uniform coat and grabbing for his shovel.

The BLU Heavy has overheard all of this-- why they seem to forget he understands English sometimes he doesn't know, but he doesn't matter. The Soldiers' little theories are funny. And he can guess at the truth. It seems obvious to him, to see them together. But, if it seems obvious to nobody else, that is good.

He will not tell anyone.


They find a big truck that had been used in the construction of the RED base, and they send the RED Pyro out in that, with a small medical kit.

"It has everything you'll need!" The BLU Medic calls. "Don't lose any!"

In addition to everything he'll need to collect the required blood, the doctor's bag has several sandwiches and two canteens of water.

Both teams stand out at the edge of the battlefield to watch the truck disappear off into the distance.

"Hrn furna." The BLU Pyro reaches a hand out to one side.

"He'll be fine." The BLU Engineer takes it, gives it a squeeze. "He'll come back and then the docs'll find us a cure. Once that happens, we can all go out, see if we can't rustle up some more survivors. Set up a town somewhere."

"Yes. Set up a town." The RED Spy sneers. "Live out the rest of our miserable lives in some backwater burg, playing at being sheriffs and mayors and greengrocers."

"It's better than nothing! It's still better than giving up and dying!"

"Hold onto that, then." He takes a moment to light a cigarette, and to check the bullets in his Ambassador. "I have tried making phone calls from both bases too many times to have your hope."

"Where the hell are you going, man?!" The BLU Scout grabs his arm as he starts walking.

"Out. I will do you the common courtesy of not leaving a mess on base, but I will not cling to this miserable world you are all so intent on."

"You're just giving up?" Confusion twists itself into contempt on the boy's face, builds itself into rage. "Pussy! What the fuck's your problem?"

"Tell me... have you tried the phones? Have you tried calling home?" He sighs. "I should not disillusion you, fils. Live. Enjoy it, if that is possible. But this is not for me. I have vultures to please, gentlemen."

"The phones don't work. It's just-- The phones went down like the radios went down." The RED Scout answers for everyone, but like his counterpart, he doesn't look very sure.

"They worked when I started calling." The Spy shakes his head. He had stayed on the line... 'Don't tell', she'd made him promise, and as he listened to the vodka and the valium slide down her throat-- pictured the bobbing under the lovely pale skin and remembered the smell of lilies of the valley clinging to her pulse-- he had promised.

She'd been coughing so much... but for her, he had had all the time in the world, to listen to her regroup to get the words out. 'Keep talking to me', she had begged him, so he had, and when finally he had no words of his own, he sang to her, 'Quand on n'a Que L'amour' and 'La Mort', until his voice broke. He had stayed on the line and tried his damnedest to be a comfort until long after he could no longer hear her laboured breathing on the other end of the line.

"I can't believe you're gonna blow your head off in the desert. That's-- That's the coward's way out!"

"Not always." He says, with so much sudden venom in place of wry resignation that the others are all taken aback. "Sometimes it is just the only choice one can make. I-- I am sure many of the people out there... I am sure that many people chose this way."

The BLU Scout bites down on his lip. "Yeah? A lot of people."

"Oui, if they were already sick."

"You better not be--" The RED Engineer starts.

"Non. I did not have the opportunity, the same as any of you. Think of how much further your resources will go without me."

"You ain't the noble type." He folds his arms.

"All the big cities are gone." The BLU Scout whispers. "Everyone in 'em's dead... aren't they?"

"Probably this is so. All over the world, from the last report we got before the radio stopped. You could still live. On the nightstand in my room, there is a photograph, you should keep it. Well." The RED Spy shrugs awkwardly, glances around at the assembled group. "Adieu, gentlemen, adieu."

They shuffle inside, just as awkward. Very few stay to watch him disappear over the horizon.

Only one stays until after the report of the Ambassador.

In the photograph that the young man eventually finds, his mother looks happy. That, at least, is something he can hold onto.

9 .

You made me cry. So touching

10 .

oh my god


I didn't actually expect anyone to fill my request! Thank you Madame Anne; this is beautiful. I wasn't expecting a declaration from Heavy so quickly, but in light of their situation, it's better to get it out while he can. Besides I love everything about Heavy, so seeing him so blatantly in love makes me incredibly happy.

It says Ch. 1 at the beginning, which IMPLIES that there's more. This makes me even happier, deliriously so.

I'd squee if it wouldn't get me banned.

Thanks again and looking forward to more.

oh and Captcha: Global - creepy huh?

11 .

Adndjsva. I was the one who asked for Sniper + rain. Thank you eternally.

12 .

you....should make a series out of this or something! i miss reading your story first thing in the morning!

13 .

omg, please give the characters names!!

14 .

Why would you want them to make up names instead of using the class names? It's not like this chan isn't used to people calling them by their class names.

15 .

No, please, no names! They are a major turn off for me.

16 .

Thanks, everybody! Okay, if names are a major turn off for someone reading, then I will not use them.

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.2~~~

They hold a funeral of sorts, not just for the RED Spy, but for all the families and friends they didn't expect to see again.

"The mood in here's too somber." BLU's Demo says. "What kind of funeral is this?"

"It's a funeral, moron." BLU Scout sniffles. "For everyone's friends and moms and fucking everybody in the world, it's not a party!"

"A good funeral ought to be." He produces several bottles of scrumpy, and his RED counterpart passes around a few more. "Come on, lads, laugh to keep from crying. Share a story about the happy times."


"Ye dinnae have to." RED's Demo laughs. "We've gone through a couple few of our own over here. I'll tell ye the silver lining... It may be an awful way to go, and I'll nae stop feeling like a bad son for years to come, if years to come I get, because I wasnae there to hold her hand at the end, but my own dear mother wouldnae want me to cry for her. She's with my old man now in Heaven. Had to happen someday, and she weren't the type to fear it."

"You really think that?"

"Aye. I know it."

"Oh." The BLU Scout folds his arms around his knees. "Maybe my folks are back together in Heaven. Guess that'd probably piss that RED Spy off."

"I wouldn't worry. We spies do not often make it that high."

"It isn't nice to imply a man's gone to hell at his own memorial. Group memorial." RED Engineer amends.

"He knew what he was signing up for." The Spy shrugs.

"Plus, it was suicide." The RED Scout's eyes widen. "You go to hell if you commit suicide. I guess 'cause you can't confess or nothing after so it sticks to you. I mean, you'd go to hell for masturbating too much if you couldn't apologize to Jesus for it. I think. I ain't been to church in a long time."

"I don't believe in hell." The BLU Medic shrugs.

"I don't know what I believe." The RED Medic shakes his head.

The BLU Soldier sHipstr back into the room, tangled in a sheet. "THERE WAS A GHOST IN THE BATHROOM, BUT I AM HANDLING THE PROBLEM!"

"You idiot!" The BLU Medic leaps to his feet and helps to untangle the man. "This is a bedsheet. You are drunk."

"Ha!" BLU Demo lifts his bottle of scrumpy up in a toast. "This time it wasn't me pissing in the linen closet!"


"I am putting this back in the bathroom." The BLU Medic sighs, folding the sheet over his arm and trudging down the hall. "Verflucht Soldat-- You broke the mirror!"

"That's bad luck." The RED Soldier points out.

"Our luck's as bad as it gets." The RED Scout snorts.

"I am turning in... You will have to forgive me, I suppose I just find funerals tiring." The RED Medic stands. "Goodnight."

"I will also go." Heavy follows suit, a little too quickly. "We are sharing room. Will be rude to disturb Doktor by coming in late and turning on light."

"Danke." He smiles, almost shy. A brief moment of weakness, overlooked or ignored by most of the others.

When they've gone around a couple of corners, away from the rest, they join hands.

In the room they've agreed to share, during the awkward re-allocation of sleeping spaces on the BLU base, Heavy pushes the two beds together.

"We don't have to..." He looks at the floor. "But... we could. And... this way, you are close to me."

"I like that idea." Medic smiles, sitting on the edge of one bed and tugging at his boots.

That night, nothing happens, beyond their heads resting close together and their hands entwined between them, beyond a few kisses and whispers. Fears and insecurities voiced and rationalized away. That night, Heavy is just happy to know that if he worries in the night, he only has to reach a little distance to find his Doktor. That night Medic is just happy knowing that with the world crumbling fast beyond their desert haven, someone he loves loves him.

17 .

Aww, this story! i cannot wait to read the rest to come! you are so good at keeping your story updated day to day and makes my mornings just great!

18 .

Agghhhh...the 'beetus...

19 .


The... the bit with RED Spy and BLU Scout's Ma... made me cry. So hard.

20 .

soldier was absolute genius. THAT WAS TOTALLY WICKED!
Please write more. pretty please. With a cherry on top. And sprinkles and icecream and muffins and necrophilia...

21 .

Wonderful chapter as always.

I was interested in seeing what you'd name the characters but if others don't like it then I guess it's a no go... heh.

22 .

Thanks so much, everybody. (I love throwing in crazy Soldier... but I can never write a full-length fic about him...)

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.3~~~

It's when everyone pours into BLU's locker room at their accustomed hour that the real differences between the teams become apparent.

It's scars, mostly, and several of the classes proudly trade stories of how they got theirs, but there are other differences.

"Do you... do you intend to shower in your gloves?" The RED Medic asks.

"I always have." His counterpart shrugs uncomfortably. "I suppose you don't."

"Back when we had the respawn to take care of everything, I didn't even wear them every time I was in surgery."

"Well. I never take them off." He tugs at one and firmly affixes his towel around his waist before wriggling out of his underwear.

"Hey, anyone on your team got a tattoo?" The RED Scout asks. He has secretly wanted one, since he was ten years old, and he decides he'll be pissed as hell if the BLU Scout's got one before he's had a chance.

"I have a tattoo of the Statue of Liberty holding a bald eagle on her arm like she is going falconing." The BLU Soldier informs him. "Son, it is GLORIOUS."

The RED Soldier nods in agreement. He doesn't regret getting an American flag, but he's sorry he didn't think to add in that Lady Liberty bit, or an eagle. That would make his tattoo so much more American...

"I have no tattoos." The BLU Heavy shakes his head. "Is... Criminals have tattoos. Heavy is cultured individual."

A snicker runs around the room at that, but quiets almost immediately as both Russians take offense.

"Very cultured, I'm sure." The BLU Engineer smooths. "Never got one myself. Pal of mine got drunk and had a mermaid done once, but he regretted it after a week or so."

The BLU Sniper just glares at him as he pulls his shirt off and shoves it into his locker. There's a mermaid on one bicep. "See if I ever go drinking with you again..."

The BLU Scout does not have a tattoo. The BLU Demoman has two, a heart with 'Mum' scrawled across it over his own heart, and a Scottish flag beneath that, though unlike his RED counterpart, he does not have a lion rampant with a bomb in its jaws.

"What about you, Doc?" The RED Scout kicks his heels.

"No. That is a stupid question. Of course I do not have a tattoo."

Both Scouts leer at this.

"That's totally the kind of 'no' that means 'yes, and it's embarrassing'." One says.

"Maybe it is embarrassing!" He snaps. "Maybe I didn't-- Maybe it was a mistake."

"It's on your ASS!" The BLU Scout howls. "Oh man, you got a tattoo on your ass, that's why you never take your towel off in the shower."

"Stop being juvenile."

"It's a lady." The RED Soldier nods sagely. "It is a lady's name, on your ass."

"I am going to shower. The rest of you may continue to act like stupid children if you want to." He huffs.

"Did she cheat on you?" The BLU Demoman asks. "I mean, because his wife did."

The RED Medic stares at him. "What? I... I thought that was something you just... say, whenever you kill someone."

"Oh. Uh. No. No, I slept with your wife."

"But... I have no wife-- Had no wife."

The BLU Medic pauses in the doorway between the locker room and the shower and smacks his forehead. "No, but I do-- Did."

The RED Demoman laughs and slaps his knee. "You slept with your own medic's wife!"

"Is that why you're sorry you got her tattooed on your ass?" The BLU Scout asks.

"I think it's just her name." The RED Soldier corrects.

"No, the boy's right. I think it's her face." The BLU Soldier says.

"She was the most beautiful creature in the world..." One of the Demos warbles, drunken and tuneless.

"We had an... arrangement. She was free to do as she liked and so was I. The subject of in what way I may or may not be tattooed is closed."

The RED Scout shrugs and races past him into the showers. Behind him, the bedsheet tacked over one of the mirrors flutters.

23 .

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: A break from your regularly schedules apocalypse, because this prompt caught my fancy and I needed to write about it:

RED Sniper is sick and tired of hearing BLU Spy bitch and whine about his suit, so during one of their tussles he decides to destroy it!

Sniper isn't planning to rape Spy or anything, he doesn't even think he likes men, he is just feeling all "ENOUGH ABOUT THE BLOODY SUIT ALREADY!" and wants to shut the fancy bloody wuss up. But once the suit is completely off, Sniper is shocked to find that he likes what he sees. Slowly and tentatively, he explores Spy's naked body.

Bonus points if Sniper ties Spy's wrists down and shoves a piece of cloth in Spy's mouth to stop his enraged protests while Sniper methodically rips the suit apart.

Also, I'd prefer if the focus were on the gentle exploration of the whole body, rather than going straight to the point. In porn I always find foreplay much hotter than the sex itself.

Finally, if there is going to be actual sex, Sniper should decide that he doesn't want to go all the way if Spy hates it (after all, "professional have standards"), so before actual penetration Sniper should ask Spy for his permission (can be just a nod if the gag stays on).


He's sick and tired of hearing it, those final words ringing in his ears as everything went dark. Next time they met, he wasn't just going to get blood on that suit, he was going to destroy it.

Luckily it's just a matter of waiting with him. It always is.

This time, he's ready. He is more than ready.

"Promise not to bleed on my suit, and I'll kill you quickly," The man whispers silky in his ear, but he isn't taken by surprise, and he's fast when he turns, has one of the Spy's wrists in one hand and the blade of his kukri at the skinny neck.

"Oh, all right. I promise." Sniper grins, shoving the Spy back until they hit the wall of his nest, hard enough to knock the other man's cigarette from his lips. "I promise not to bleed on your fancy suit at all. In fact, why don't we make sure it's nice and safe, so I don't bleed on it by accident-- what with this nice big knife on hand..."

"What-- Let--" The Spy struggles, but only for a moment, before the edge of the kukri reminds him to hold still, and the bruising grip on his wrist that keeps him from using his own blade. His other hand scrabbles at the Sniper's grip in vain, until he stops even that, wary of the knife at his throat. "Well? Are you going to kill me?"

"Might do. We'll see. If you want to avoid an unnecessarily painful trip to respawn, you'll get your other hand up here by this one, I don't want you getting any ideas. And drop your knife."

"I'd sooner-- Yes. Fine. All right." He lets it fall, crosses his wrists so the Sniper can hold both arms in place with one hand.

He doesn't need to for long. He has a hook on the wall over their heads, and a loop of good rope.

"What is the point of all this?"

"The point?" The Sniper grins, raising an eyebrow. "Wouldn't want to ruin the fun for you, you figure it out."

The Spy sighs. "There's going to be an awful crease along the back of this jacket, I can just feel it... Well, get on with it, then. You planned on torturing me?"

"Oh, no, mate. I'm not a sadist. I'm just sick... and tired... of your... bloody... suit."

"You are tired of my suit? Hilarious, bushman. This is dry-clean only, silk, and very expensive. It is hardly the sort of thing one complains about. I should be complaining about the way you dress. I don't think your clothes have ever been washed."

Sniper didn't dignify this with a response-- in part because it was entirely possible he hadn't had fresh laundry done that week. Besides, his clothes were going to stay in one piece.

He picks up the Spy's knife-- he wants to teach the spook a lesson, not accidentally disembowel him-- and uses the tip of the blade to pop the buttons off the Spy's jacket.

"Bastard! Swine!" Spy begins struggling again, and Sniper grabs up his kukri.

"Hold. Still. Or instead of using this neat little knife, I'll use mine, and then we'll probably get blood all over your precious suit. If that rope comes untied, I'll have no choice but to gut you. And if you even think about kicking me in the family jewels, mate, you'll be losing yours."

The Spy's face twists in rage, and his chest is heaving, but he holds still. He doesn't free himself, and he doesn't kick. He does swear-- loudly-- when Sniper cuts the end off his tie, only to have the whole thing yanked loose and shoved into his mouth.

"Think I like you better like this. Quieter." Sniper smiles. The worst part about it is how friendly he looks. It is not a mean smile, not the cold calculating smile he'd had only moments earlier, it's an awful parody of warmth, the smile you give an old friend who you've just seen unexpectedly.

The lapels come off the jacket next, the Sniper working at the seams with the Spy's butterfly knife, until the thread holding them on is so loose that he can rip them away with his hands.

The Spy makes a muffled sound of protest through the tie.

"What's that? Yeah, bit of a warm day, isn't it? Oh, no worries, I've got you taken care of. Always did wonder how you could stand to run around the desert in that thing." He starts in on the left shoulder. The sound of the knife tearing through thread and fabric is immensely satisfying, as is the way the Spy flinches at each rip, the little moans stifled by his makeshift gag.

"Oh yeah... I could do this all day." Sniper says-- it wasn't a part of the little script he'd planned out at all, but it's true enough, and he doesn't examine the reasons why he said it.

Once the shoulder is taken care of, he slices up the arm and lets the sleeve fall to the rough and dusty floorboards. Admires his handiwork before moving to the right.

"Well now you just look a bit silly, don't you? Two waistcoats on. That's one too many, don't you think?" He slices up the left side seam, the shoulder seam, until the body of the blazer hangs awkwardly from the right side of the Spy's body.

He takes care of that quickly, too, enjoys the burning anger in the other man's eyes, and having his biggest enemy on the battlefield helpless at his mercy.

"Actually, even one seems a bit overdressed. We're not fancy here." He continues, beaming. He savors the little ping of every little button hitting the floor as he takes care of the waistcoat as well. It's even easier to cut through than the blazer had been, though he needs to use his kukri to cut away the shoulder holster with the Spy's Ambassador. He hates that gun, too, enjoys the thunk of it hitting the floor with the rest.

The vest and blazer are both in a heap of scraps at their feet, but it's a three piece suit... He slips the kukri under the Spy's belt and slices out-- could have easily just unbuckled the belt, but as long as he's come this far... He goes back to the stolen butterfly knife, to reduce the trousers to pattern pieces. It takes a little time, but it's worth it.

And he's come this far...

He starts on the shirt, again beginning by slicing off each button. The shirt is thin, though, and it's not at all hard to cut through. When it falls away, he's surprised by his own reaction.

No... No, not surprised, exactly. He was surprised when he enjoyed seeing the man's bare legs. After that, he can't call his thoughts about the Spy's chest and arms a surprise, just... just a complication.

But he's a professional. He's not an animal, and he's not a rapist. He's just confused, maybe. And he's been enjoying getting one up on the sneaky little bastard. Somewhere a wire just got crossed in his brain.

The look he's getting feels less like hate, and that's confusing, too.

But he's come this far.

He drops to his knees, has to focus on breathing steady, and he slips the flat of the blade under one sock garter, lets it rest cold against the skin a moment before slicing through.

There's a 'pfah' sound, and he feels the tie land on his head.

"My socks? Is this really necessary?"

He cuts through the other garter, just for the symmetry, and sits back on his heels. "Guess not."

The Spy is half-hard under his silk boxers, and the Sniper...

He's come this far.

"Would you be upset about getting blood on these?" He tugs at the waistband, gently.

"Under the circumstances? Very."

"Guess they'd better go, then." He gives the Spy a moment to protest, and when protest doesn't come, he slices up the seams again and lets the remains flutter to the floor between the man's feet.

He doesn't make a move towards the mask. He half wants to, is half afraid to. That would be taking things far too far, and the whole bloody game is starting to look like a bad idea, but...

But he's come this far.

He stands, steps in closer so that their bodies almost touch, so that the bulge in his own trousers and the Spy's freed and half-erect cock brush, and from there, he starts at the top. At least, as near the top as he can, with the pale white inside of the Spy's elbow, the hook barely low enough to let him reach. The Spy's arms are wiry and strong but they never see the sun. He can see the vein trace under the skin in the bend of the elbow, almost as blue as the suit he's destroyed. He can feel the warmth of skin under his lips and smell the sweat of running through the desert in all those layers. He moves down the upstretched arm, his hand sliding back up again, up even higher until his fingers tangle with the Spy's, and he doesn't go after the gloves, either. He bites down on the Spy's shoulder and laves over the deep mark of his teeth.

Once he's paid enough attention to the Spy's arm and shoulder, explored the lines of hard whipcord muscle and hair somehow both coarser and silkier than he would have imagined, he moves on to the chest.

More hair, more flat hard muscle. He searches over every inch with the pads of his fingers, rakes his nails gently over skin and through chest hair and even more lightly across dusky flat nipples that tauten at his attention. He lets the palms of his hands rest flat high on the Spy's chest for a moment, sliding up over his shoulders, sliding down to the bottom of his ribcage. He bends forward to suck at one of those nipples, then the other. The right side stays flatter, but the Spy gasps aloud when he lets his teeth graze the left one.

He has to drop to his knees to get lower, to kiss and caress his way all over the Spy's lower torso, tracing the lines of his abdomen, dipping his tongue into the Spy's navel and then tracing the hair-- and when did he start fancying body hair? When did he want flat chests and hard muscle? How long has he kept this secret from himself?-- down from the belly to the crotch.

The Spy is more than half-hard now, his erection bobbing up towards the Sniper's face, but Sniper ignores it-- too much too fast, and anyway, there's still more.

His hands roam over each thigh, measuring them out almost. He lifts one leg so that he can kiss the back of a knee, and then, when he can hook that knee over his shoulder, there's so much more he can get to. He can roll the heavy sac in one hand, can slide a finger along the smooth skin behind. He can reach around to squeeze the firm arse, knead each side before experimentally spreading the cheeks.

No. Too much. Too fast.

And he's put off the cock long enough. Cruising on instinct serves him well enough. He uses his lips and tongue and hands, and he enjoys every second of it, every twitch and every gasp.

"I want you," He murmurs, rubs his face against the Spy's belly, wiping the come from his face and onto the other man's skin. "Want you bad..."

"You could have just said something," Spy chuckles. "You did not need to destroy my wardrobe just because you wanted to see me out of it."

"I didn't know I did. I mean, I didn't. Before. Just liked what I saw, reckon."

"Tigre, if that is the case, I think combat will be much more interesting from now on..." Another chuckle. "But you are overdressed now, and still so unsatisfied."

"I want--" His mouth works, but the rest of the sentence doesn't come.

"What any man in your position would." Spy smiles gently. "I am no stranger to it... And it has been a long time since I have had a nice... hard... fuck..."

Sniper groans, rising unsteadily to his feet. "Wait right there,"

"Of course." Spy snorts.

There's a jar of Vaseline in the nest-- keeping watch gets boring sometimes, and when they teleport the teams out to this corner of the desert, he practically lives up there.

"You really don't mind? Say the word and I'll cut you down now, I'm not going to--"

"If I wanted to get free, in the time you took finding that, I could have, and your back is turned to me. I am still tied up because I am waiting for you to fuck me."

Sniper isn't sure he believes the Spy's boast-- surely if he could get free, he would have, not like he needs to be tied to the wall to be made love to-- but he knows when to shut up and be glad of his luck. He struggles out of enough of his own clothes and gets the other man's legs wrapped around his waist.

"Do you-- Do you..."

"Do I what? Back a little more, just guide it in..."

"Are you sure--"

"Oui, let me feel it. I am not porcelain, Monsieur Sniper. When I get fucked, I like it to be rough. The restraints are a nice touch, even..." He smiles. "As long as we are face to face, I also like to kiss."

Grateful, he falls forward, lets their mouths crash together. Once the slightly awkward process of getting started is taken care of, his hands are free again, and while he has to help hold the Spy up, he's also free to keep exploring while he does, to grip at his thighs or his hips or his waist, to let one hand slide up the man's back.

It's not long before he's coming, but he doubts they could keep the position up for too long anyway. Even when it's over, even as he's gently lifting the Spy off his softening cock and setting his feet back on the ground, he doesn't stop kissing the man. Doesn't stop kissing him even when he goes for the knife to cut the rope.

When the kissing finally does stop, the Spy grabs his Ambassador, and for a moment, cold fear and regret stab at the Sniper's gut, but the Spy merely places the barrel against his own temple.

Seeing the other man's confusion, he lets out an embarrassed laugh.

"Don't consider this the sign of a bad morning after-- I will respawn with my suit. I am not going to sprint across the battlefield like this. Besides... I like my suit. It would be a shame to have to replace it."

Sniper only realizes much later that the Spy had gone right back to talking about his precious suit, but he finds he doesn't mind so much anymore...

24 .

bwhaha that was awesome!!!

25 .

That was perfect! Thank you so much for taking my prompt.

26 .

So hot and hilarious! Even I just read this fic intensively, I want to do again already.

27 .

Thanks, all!

We now return you to your Supervirus Apocalypse already in progress... (Captcha says 'formatch research'...)

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.4~~~

After three days, the RED Pyro returns triumphant, and the medics can begin their work.

While they do, the RED Heavy passes the time by getting to know his old opposite number. It is nice, to be able to speak Russian again, to talk about anything without worrying about being misunderstood. He's pleased to learn that the BLU Heavy really is cultured, that they have similar tastes in literature, similar levels of skill both in chess and in boxing. It keeps him from being too bored or too lonely, now that his Doktor is always working.

"You worry, too?" The BLU Heavy asks him, over a cup of tea.

"Whole thing is risky... probably everyone should worry, a little." He shrugs.

"You worry the most about your doktor. This is good. I worry for mine. A mistake with the infected blood could make him sick... I always worry for him, maybe this is nothing new. Worry in battle, worry in life. But, he has survived much. He is strong and he is smart, and he will be careful. Your doktor will do the same."

"Yes. My Doktor is very smart." Now that they are not enemies, the RED Heavy stops himself from saying 'smarter than your doktor'. "And... he promised he would be very careful."

They finish their tea in silence.

When the hour grows late enough, they both go to the laboratory the two medics have set up, each leading his own to their respective rooms-- with the base twice as full as usual, both pairs of men had volunteered to bunk in together, and while the REDs have tried not to assume too much, every class has made the base assumption that their counterparts are essentially identical to themselves in every way which matters, and neither man would be surprised if the BLU Heavy and Medic loved each other as well, whether or not either had acted on it.

"How is cure coming?" Heavy asks, stripping away his Doktor's gloves and coat.

"Slow. But... but not wholly without promise, mein Schatz. We will find something."

He removes the other man's tie, his waistcoat and shirt and belt. "Good. I believe you will. You are tired..."

"I-- Well, yes. But I am not too tired..." Medic looks up at him, manages a wan smile as he kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his undershirt.

Heavy kneels down and undoes his Doktor's trousers. "Get on bed, then, and I will take care of everything. Don't worry... I can be gentle."

"I trust you." He steps out of his trousers and shorts together and lets the Heavy lay him down on his back. The night before, they had made love for the first time, awkward and frantic, wondering if the Pyro would even make it back, if they had any hope for a cure at all, if their little outpost would be able to survive.

This time, Heavy takes his time, angles them together with more finesse, strokes gentle hands down Medic's sides as they kiss. It's still not perfect-- they haven't yet had enough practice for things to be perfect, and it is not easy to fit their bodies together without demanding too much from his already-tired Doktor, and in the end he decides a handjob is best, he can bring them both off together that way, if they lie on their sides, if they scoot in close together.

Medic doesn't roll away from him after, each man staying at the very edge of his own mattress so that they can hold fast to each other.

"Danke..." Medic sighs happily and moves his pillow over the thin gap between the beds, so his head can rest even closer to Heavy's. "I think I will be able to sleep much better this way..."

"Always happy to help Doktor sleep, then." Heavy chuckles, kissing the top of his head.

"The only thing that can quiet my brain... If I begin to make myself exhausted with my work, you must finish the job so that I can rest properly."

"Da. Tomorrow night we will get exhausted again." Another kiss, sleepier and slightly off-target.

Medic hums and places a hand over Heavy's chest, already half asleep.

28 .

Okay, taking another brief break from Edge of Doom (man, if I'd known it would be in so many mini-chapters... should've given it its own thread at the get-go, but it can share), because I promised to fill...

This prompt: Medic strikes me as the type who likes to get dirty; he didn't wear any gloves when he was operating on Heavy in Meet the Medic. What if Medic was like this in the bedroom? Cumslut Medic, anyone?

(PS, just as I sat down to write this, Duran Duran's 'Bedroom Toys' started playing on my iTunes-- perfect soundtrack, much? I was just randomly listening to whatevs, but I put it on repeat for this, because it is seriously the best writing music for this particular bit o' porn)


It's not the first time the mood has taken him, the total wantonness he sometimes feels. It is a pleasant thing to feel, but always so disappointing, when it's over and he still hasn't had enough.

Heavy is never unwilling to please him, often fingers him for ages after they've both wrung themselves out, and it's wonderful, of course, but... as good as it feels, as good as it is having even one of those thick fingers inside him, so much of the satisfaction is gone for him, if he cannot make his partner come. There are only so many times a night he can reasonably expect his Heavy to perform this duty.

Tonight, the lust is burning, consuming. It only took a single look to communicate it, and Heavy followed him to his bedroom as soon as they could get away from the others.

"Is good day." Heavy laughs, locking the door behind them.

"Yes," Medic strips, can't tear his eyes from his lover as the other man does the same.

"Tishina... I know what Doktor wants..." Heavy sits on the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide.

"Bitte," Medic gets down, crawls on his knees until he's between those thighs, where he can run his hands along the rough hair and firm muscle, feel them quiver and twitch under his touch and watch the growing erection do the same under his gaze.

Heavy's fingers card through Medic's hair, gentle. There's no need to urge him forward when he wants it this much. "Dushka moj..."

Medic wraps one hand loosely around Heavy's shaft, flutes his lips along the length for a while, then pulls back, guides the head to rub against the apple of his cheek 'til he can feel the precome smear across his skin.

The blowjob that follows is messy, his lips and chin glistening with his own saliva, and he only allows himself to swallow half of the big man's release, wants the rest all over himself, loves the feel of it landing hot and wet and thick across his face and chest.

"Mehr," He moans, breathy and desperate. "Zusehends. More."

"Up." Heavy pats the bed. "And wait for me..."

He does as he's told-- is always compliant when he gets this way-- but he knows he has a good wait before Heavy can really go another round, and it makes the promise of his own release just a little hollow.

He's surprised when Heavy pulls his trousers on and unlocks the door, would complain, but Heavy had said 'wait for me', it implied a return...

He hears the click of his office refrigerator, and then Heavy returns, with a large specimen jar, and he's not sure he dares hope...

"You," Heavy points an accusing finger at him, but he smiles as well. "You are very needy sometimes, Doktor."

Medic's eyes light up. "You masturbated into a jar for me?"

"... Doktor doesn't need to make it sound clinical."

"No, no, it's very romantic! It's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me!"

"Am surprised Doktor never noticed, has been in your office all week. Now..." He places one hand on the Medic's chest, gently pushes him back down to the mattress. "This I like..."

"Oh, ja..."

Heavy nudges one leg up and to the side, moves the other as well, opening the jar and dipping one finger in, coating it. "Now... where does Doktor want this?"

"Give it to me," He moans.

Heavy places the finger to his lips, smears it a little before he lets Medic suck him clean. He feeds him a couple more fingerfuls, traces even more along the skin of his chest and belly, drizzles some onto the Medic's straining erection.

"You still need more?"

Medic nods. "Bitte, bitte, zusehends..."

Heavy laughs. The meaning, at least, is clear no matter what the language. He coats his finger again, traces down the line of the Medic's ass. Another fingerful of come, and he traces around the hole. One more and he pushes in, only a little. He dips back into the jar every time, adding more, working it up into the other man until he's slick and open and dripping, leaking precome of his own.

He grips the base of Medic's cock and doesn't let him come, even as he keeps fingering him, driving him over and over again to the edge, to babbling incoherence, until he's biting down on his knuckles to keep from screaming out in frustrated pleasure, and by that time, Heavy is hard again, has used the real lubricant to slick his own cock in preparation.

Once he's inside Medic, it's hard and fast, and they're both coming soon, but after that, there's a little left in the jar, and he lets it dribble down onto Medic's shoulder, watches it drip down into his chest hair.

"Mm. Doktor is a mess, and Heavy is exhausted." Heavy sighs, flopping down onto the bed and letting the empty specimen jar fall to the floor. "Is good?"

"So good..." Medic rubs up against him, smearing them both further as he nestles himself into a comfortable position. There's not much room to sleep apart, even a double bed feels like a single when he's sharing it with his Heavy.

It's fortunate he has his own shower-- really an emergency contamination shower-- in the infirmary, so that they can both clean off in the morning before they run into any of the others, but it will wait until the morning. For now, he just wants to fall asleep like this, to enjoy the feel and the smell all over him and the taste that still clings to his tongue.

"I am lucky to have you." He whispers.

"Nyet. Doktor always deserves more."

29 .


Requester here.

This was wonderful! Thank you for filling it!

30 .

While I'm not a bukkake maniac, I can see Medic being quirky enough to have a semen fixation, and... devoted Heavy is devoted.

31 .


Oh my god I love Soldier.

32 .

You know, bukkake in and of itself isn't normally my thing, either, but... man, it's just something about Medic, I guess, 'cause I got into writing it... And I'm glad to hear the OP liked it!

(and thanks, Anon 31-- crazy Soldier is fun as all get out to write... hopefully I'll be able to pull off serious Soldier as well...)

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.5~~~

Friday night, the BLU Medic stops working early.

"Is something the matter? You're not unwell, are you?"

"No, it's-- Perhaps I am not used to this schedule." He apologizes. "We should both do our best to avoid burning out. Tomorrow I will rest. If you keep working, then you should rest on Sunday and I will go back to work."

It is a sound point. They can't both work themselves around the clock, not all day every day. And perhaps taking a day off would give him fresh eyes, if he cannot come to any breakthroughs on his own on Saturday.

And then maybe on Monday, his new colleague will seem less cagey and anxious.

Then again, they are all a bit that way, now and again. The stress and fear gets to everyone.

"Very well. We shall split the weekend." The RED Medic smiles. "I will keep working a bit longer, I think-- it's only..."

"Ten o'clock. The sun will be going down."

He nods. Well, the BLU generator is still working, and the engineers have moved all the salvageable equipment from the RED base, including extra fuel the generator can run on. He can keep working a little longer.

At eleven, his Heavy comes to get him again, sandwich in hand. Food that can be eaten cold is, fuel and electricity under careful rationing until it is possible to rebuild, or at least to scavenge from the nearest town. The Pyros' fuel tanks have been added to the generator supply store, to their chagrin, but wooden boards have been pulled from the RED base, and they had celebrated the RED Pyro's return by building a little bonfire together from a few.

"Things are going as well as can be expected." Medic muses. Not just the research-- still slow, of course, but he knows it could be slower-- but the two teams managing to integrate, for the most part to survive.

"Good. Eat, then we will get some sleep."

"Mm. Tomorrow the lab is mine. Sunday I am taking my own enforced day off."

"Very good." Heavy rubs his shoulders. "Doktor needs more rest."

"I know, I know. I hate it, but I know. Oh, Heavy... your hands are just wonderful..."

"You want more massage?" He leers, leaning in. "Finish sandvich, get undressed... I was supposed to help Doktor relax again."


On Saturday, the RED Medic is surprised when the BLU Heavy stops by the lab.

"Doktor is-- Other Doktor-- is sorry you are working alone. Asked me to bring notes by, if they are helpful." He drops a small book onto the counter.

"I'll be sure to leave my own research for him to go over on Sunday, danke. Ah-- Herr Heavy... the two of you are good friends, you would say?"

"Da, good friends." He nods, smile somewhat guarded and somewhat amused.

"Good. Then I am sure he will be fine."

"And you are other Heavy Weapons Guy's good friend?"

"Yes. That is... Yes."

He chuckles. "Then this is also good. You can be fine, too. Looks like teams are not so different."

Medic smiles. "No, it seems not. It almost makes me sorry we dominated the two of you so many times in combat."

The chuckle becomes a booming laugh. "Do not be sorry! My Doktor and I beat you many times also! This is the past, is all... good fun, yes?"

"Well... It was a little fun, maybe. From time to time."

"When doktors find cure, we all have dinner together to toast success, reminisce about fun times in war." He claps the Medic on the shoulder, not nearly as hard as he could, if not as gentle as the Medic might have liked, and leaves.

When the evening grows late, he leaves his work early to eat with the others. The BLU Medic and his Heavy are not in attendance, but his own Heavy is arm wrestling with the BLU Soldier, the RED Soldier already nursing a sore arm and both Demomen lined up to take their turns against the champion. The BLU Engineer seems to be in line as well.

"Doktor!" Heavy slams the BLU Soldier's arm down and stands. "You remember to leave work! Food is left over from last night, is all in kitchen. Go, get dinner, then watch me defeat more baby men!"

"Of course, mei-- Heavy. I am sure it's a very interesting exhibition of strength."

"I can't feel my arm." The BLU Soldier says.

"I have a shoulder again. Wait, no, it's gone." The RED Soldier shakes his head. "What do they feed kids in Russia, bears?"

Medic hurries to get his sandwich and the last of the wilted salad, returns in time to see his Heavy beat the RED Demo and challenge the BLU.

"You really think you're gonna beat him?" RED Scout asks, skepticism glaringly clear in his voice, his posture, the quirk of one eyebrow.

"He's only human, lad, he's got to tire sometime. One of us will take him!"

"Well, where's your fatty? He could probably do it, right?"

"Saturday night." BLU Engineer shakes his head. "If he's eating with the doc, we won't see either of 'em 'til morning. Doc almost never comes out of his room all Saturday if he's on base over the weekend."

"Less talking, more arm wrestling." Heavy says, placing his elbow on the table and beckoning to the BLU Demoman.

"Oh, I've got yer arm wrestling right here, laddie, don't you dou--oof! Fine, fine, who's the next challenger, then?"

The BLU Engineer sits down and gets his arm in position, grinning good-naturedly at the laughter from the crowd.

"Remember, we weakened him for you!" The BLU Soldier shouts. "Show that commie what a good old American arm can do!"

The back of his hand hits the metal table almost immediately, with a loud clang that leaves the table dented.

"Hm... maybe if it was mechanical from the elbow down..." He mutters, shaking his head and retreating.

"Doktor is impressed?" Heavy whispers.

"Always, but I did not really think any of them would beat you."


Medic turns, surprised-- the voice is one he doesn't recognize. He doesn't recognize the man standing in the kitchen doorway, either, wearing nothing but shorts and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, but he does realize that he knows him. There aren't many ways he could see a face he doesn't know here, and the man has old scars that speak to being badly burnt in the past.

"I think we have an emergency," He coughs. "I think the mask didn't work like we wanted."

"DAMMIT, BOY!" BLU's Engineer throws his helmet down. "And you just exposed us all?"

"If the mask doesn't work, we may have been exposed the entire time he has been back. Go and lie down in the infirmary, I will cancel my day off and gather my colleague, we will just have to find the cure even faster."

"I'm burning up." The Pyro giggles. "I-- I tried to keep the mask on, honest. I don't ever like taking it off anyway, you guys know that. I couldn't breathe, and it was just too hot, and... I've been on fire before, but I never been too hot before, not like... I just--"

"It was two or even three days before you even realized you'd been exposed, yes? Get to the infirmary and rest. Somebody, get towels, wet them down, try at least to keep him comfortable until we can administer a potential cure." He snaps off the instructions and barrels down the hallway towards the room the other Medic and Heavy share.

His own Heavy follows close behind. "We could all be sick, then?"

"We could be, but we will have time. We are getting closer to a breakthrough, I can feel it, Liebling."

"I will help. Tell me what to do, it will get done."

"Danke." He stops short, only for a moment, turns and throws his arms around his Heavy. "Danke, mein Schatz. We are going to be fine."

And with that, they're on the move again.

33 .

I love you...

34 .

Oh, oh my God, OH.

That was SO FANTASTIC, for SO MANY REASONS. And the way you described Medic's first glance of the Pyro, and how he kind of recognized him anyway was pretty brilliant. I really, really like this fic.

35 .

Oh man. The moment I read "arm wrestling" I was hoping one of the Engineers would have a go at it. I was expecting it to go down like Lintu's comic where Heavy challenged Engie, but this definitely works too and I was grinning up until Pyro appeared. (then I was sadface)

You write wonderfully, and you know how to write fluffy sex and sexy sex without it being simple smut!

36 .

Oh Madame Anne, how you have made my day!

I'm so happy that you're continuing to write my story, and at a good clip too!

I love it that you've made them cooperate; it would stink for them if they had to fight a killer virus/plague and each other.

Thank you again!

37 .

Thanks for the feedback, all-- I'm always glad to hear it!

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.6~~~

The BLU Heavy answers the door, wearing his toque. "What is problem?"

"Are either of you sick?"

"What? No. Is not for chills, is just hat. Why is little doktor so upset?"

The BLU Medic comes up behind him, also wearing a hat. Beyond him, the room is dim, lit only by a few candles. "There is a problem?"

"Maybe so. The Pyro is ill, terribly. I sent him to the infirmary, I hope someone has gone along with him to make sure that he gets there safely, and to follow my instructions for his care. But we cannot afford a day of rest, my friend, not if we wish to beat the outbreak."

"N-no... No, I suppose we cannot afford a day of rest." He chuckles wryly, but anguish twists his mouth. "How bad is he?"

"Feverish. He did not notice he was sick until recently, but now he is sweating like a horse. He was not coughing much, and even so, it is impossible to know just from casual observation how much of that is the virus, and how much is a hazard of his old occupation."

"Well, why not?" The BLU Medic sighs. "I am a murderer, an adulterer. What harm can a few hours of work do the state of my soul?"

The RED Medic nods. "I am sure the rewards more than make up for the damage."

"I always had the weekend off, I never even had to worry about it..." He sighs again. "Still, maybe it is high time I gave some thought to the sanctity of life, yes?"

The foursome make their way back down to the base's little medical wing, passing through the infirmary to get to the BLU Medic's lab setup. It is not so different from the little operating theater that the RED Medic is used to, back in the vacated base, but it's been turned to a higher purpose now. Still, the organization of the wing is much the same. From the main infirmary, one turns a corner, goes through a small waiting area to reach the operating theater-cum-laboratory, and beyond that the private office. It is strange, but nice, to never worry about getting lost on the BLU base.

In the main infirmary, the RED Pyro has been put to bed, and the Medic is pleased to see his words have been heeded-- wet towels have been strategically placed. He suspects the present BLU Engineer was the one to orchestrate the placement-- the man may not be a medical doctor, but he is the most educated. Also present, the RED Soldier, holding onto one of the unfortunate Pyro's hands and looking grim, and the BLU Pyro, who holds the other.

"Start work, I will check on him." The BLU Medic says. "I'll join you soon."

"Bitte. Heavy, with me, I will show you how to assist me with the equipment."

They head back into the heart of the laboratory, and the BLU Medic returns to the patient, his own Heavy following at a short distance.

"How is he?"

"Temp's dropped a little bit." The Engineer says. "Got a wet towel under him, shoved a couple more up under his arms, put a washcloth over his forehead. Still burning up, cough comes and goes, and that's been getting wetter."

"Not good... but we still have some time, and we will do our best."

"We have time?" The RED Soldier looks up, wild-eyed. "Doc, you're gonna save my little buddy, right?"

"I can only try. But I will try." He promises.

"It's just... I know he's hard to figure out and kind of freaky looking, but he's a darn good man, he's a darn good little... fire-setting... guy... He is!"

"I am sure. For now, try and keep his temperature from spiking. Herr Engineer, I will show you the medicines I have on hand and give you some basic instructions, what to do if the cough gets worse or if he seems to be in great pain. We will have to ration these carefully as with everything, but I hope to have the cure before too many of us become too ill, if we can ease his suffering, we should."

He looks back over his shoulder, as he gathers the pills and solutions that might help. The RED Pyro's skin is sallow, might have been olive tan once, before he locked himself inside that suit and away from the sun for every hour of the day, and the burns spread out like thick pink cobwebs. His build is fairly average, well-muscled enough from running about under the weight of his equipment, nothing that couldn't be expected. His hair, where it grows, is dark. The BLU Medic isn't sure what he expected the man inside the Pyro's suit to look like, and he does not know if this is a surprise.

When the BLU Pyro releases his hand, it is to remove a glove and to take the hand again, to squeeze gently. The BLU Medic is surprised that his own team's Pyro has paler skin, a smaller hand-- the burns are the same, but the hand itself is different. Were the men inside the suits somehow not identical, as all the other opposing class-mates were?

It is only when he and the Engineer return to the scene around the bed that he considers that his own fire-happy teammate might not be a man at all.

"I'll take care of him, Doc." The Engineer tips his hardhat, places a hand on the BLU Pyro's shoulder. "Don't any of you worry none."


"Hudda hudda!" The BLU Pyro leans over his-- her?-- counterpart to admonish the RED Soldier.

"He's just upset over his friend, nothing personal." The Engineer says. "Hope y'all get your cure figured out right quick, though, I don't mind telling you."

The BLU Medic hopes the same, but he fears that expressing this wish might not inspire the confidence he wants the others to feel.

"Doktors will find cure." The BLU Heavy promises, taking off his hat. He drags a chair from the waiting hall into the lab as he follows his Medic, and sits down to wait.

38 .

I love your Sniper/Spy bits.

I basically jizzed in my pants at the ending of the first one.
Such boners.

I like the way you write, too, sentence by sentence. There's no walls of text going on here. Clean and simple and still communicates the point.

39 .

Thanks, Ultra!

(man, I should check back and see if there are Sniper/Spy prompts I missed... also, eventually, think I'm gonna try my hand at that Engie/Pyro one... but for now...)

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.7~~~

Everyone has their blood taken and examined, and there is a heavy silence as the assembled ex-mercenaries stand around the waiting area and hope for better news than any of them can expect.

"We have all been infected," The RED Medic announces, exiting the laboratory. "In most of us the virus is dormant at the moment. Only our Pyro is truly ill at the moment, though our Soldier will likely be the next. We have looked at everyone's samples, watched the rate of growth... The Snipers and the Engineers are the healthiest-- there is barely any sign of even a dormant infection in either Engineer."

"That doesn't make sense." The BLU Sniper pushes himself off the wall and takes a step forward. "I mean, sure, we've been avoiding-- avoiding getting exposed. But Truckie's been sitting up with your Pyro all bloody day, hasn't he?"

"Fellas," The BLU Engineer stands. "I got an idea. Let me go down to my workshop and get the necessaries, and then I'll ask the medics if it makes any sense, biologically speaking."

"For now, we have something. Not a cure-- I'm sorry, not a cure. Just a treatment. It..." The BLU Medic glances away, doesn't meet the RED Soldier's eyes. "It cannot be used on the Pyro, he is too advanced... it would only cause him pain, but it could not slow the disease, not enough to be of help."

"So he's a goner?" The RED Soldier bites his lip.

"I am afraid so, if we cannot find something better soon. Do not hold out too much hope, but... do not stop praying for him, either. We have yet to give up. Everyone else, come. You are still not beyond the help we can give."

They file into the lab, shuffling and quiet. The RED Soldier hesitates a moment, looking back towards the infirmary around the corner.

"He has been given morphine." The BLU Medic promises. "He is in less pain now. He will sleep, and we will keep refining our efforts."

"I don't know if I want your damn injections if he can't have one..."

"I did not expect quitter talk from you, Herr Soldier."

He snaps to attention. "I am not a quitter!"

"Then come with me and take your shot like a man, and then you will be able to care for your teammate with less risk to your own health."

In the lab, the RED Medic has administered a few of the injections. Several of the men are wincing and rubbing their arms in pain.

"You didn't say it was gonna burn! Jeez, Doc!"

"That is not burning. If you get sick, like the Pyro, that is burning." He admonishes the Scout.

"How bad's it burn?" The other Scout asks.

"Don't be a baby." The BLU Medic takes one of the prepared syringes and finds the boy's vein. He administers the next to the RED Soldier. "Nor you, Herr Soldier. If I can take it, then surely you can."

"Fine for you to say." The RED Sniper grumbles.

"I assure you, I have gone through worse than any of you."

"More tests of those shots, maybe." The BLU Soldier challenges. "But what about all those other... Nazi experiments you like to run on us, huh?"

The syringe he'd begun to prepare shatters in his hand. "Do NOT call them that."

"Don't call 'em what? Nazi experiments?" He sneers, leaning into the doctor's personal space. "I don't know what you did during the war, but I'll tell you what I was doing--"

"No. Not now. Do you want to know what I did during the war? Do you want to hear about my participation in these 'Nazi experiments'? Because it wasn't as a doctor-- I wasn't allowed to practice medicine!" He shouts, tearing his gloves off and throwing them into the waste bin, hands shaking. "I do not have to put up with this anymore. I thought I could endure all the personal dislike you could throw at me, I thought I could endure anything, but so help me... Oh, God, oh, God, what do you want from my life?!"

The RED Medic steps forward, between the two men. "Herr Soldier, if you wish to receive the correct injection, I suggest you let me administer it. And I suggest the rest of you think long and hard about just what kind of situation we are all in, before you begin any fights."

"Doktor could just tell the truth." The BLU Heavy suggests, coming to knead his medic's shoulders.

"I never wanted to be looked at... with the pity. I never wanted to be seen as a victim."

"You tell me. I do not see Doktor as victim. Survivor, yes, victim, no."

"Scout, come here," The BLU Medic sighs, beckoning for the RED Scout.

"I already got stuck!"

"No, no... You asked, two or three days ago, if I had any tattoos. It is not a woman's name, it is not on my ass. All right?"

The RED Medic glances back at his defeated-looking colleague, and allows himself to have a little trouble in finding a vein for the BLU Soldier's injection. Not much, but a little. In the course of their work together, he's come to like the other doctor.

The BLU Medic digs through drawers for a pair of gloves not stuck through with shards of glass. "Who is next?"

"Hudda... hrna bhkh hrn?" The BLU Pyro extends his-- her?-- its arm, but does not roll up the sleeve of the suit. Still, the one glove is gone, and there is a vein, thick and visible, along the back of the hand.

"Yes, yes, that's fine. It will hurt."

"Hudda." The Pyro shrugs.

"I had two choices," He tells the blank mask. Now that the truth has begun to come out, he feels the need for some closure. "You see? I could have lost myself... I could have given up, I could have died. Instead, I gave myself over to scientific inquiry. I became fascinated, let my interest act as an opiate against the pain. You understand, though, don't you? You and the other, you are both badly burnt. You must have been hurt by the fire, before you embraced it."

The Pyro nods, gloved hand rubbing over the injection site.

"I'll get you a bandage, then you can put your glove back on if you like." He smiles, kindly. The skill is still somewhat alien, the gesture feels stiff, but since the two teams banded together to fight for survival, he has felt the underlying emotion more often. The doctor he ought to have been, the healer two wars kept him from being.

It is a good feeling, he decides. He's sorry he doesn't have a jar of candy on his desk...

The RED Soldier is back in the infirmary, one hand over the bandage on his arm, one on the RED Pyro's over-warm forehead. He doesn't know any lullabies, so he sings 'Over There' as softly as he can.

It is not very soft, but the morphine keeps him from disturbing his teammate.

In the lab, the BLU Soldier starts whistling along-- they can hear the tune from there.

"Right." The RED Sniper grabs his hat and makes for the door. "I'll be in my van. Hope your Engineer's got a bloody good breakthrough, though what he knows about medicine..."

"Yes, you shall have to keep us all updated." The Spy nods, following the lanky Australian outside.

The Scouts dash off as well, tired of sitting still, and eventually, the BLU Soldier and RED Demoman leave together. The BLU Demo has fallen asleep the waiting chair, the heavies have chosen to remain with their respective doctors, the BLU Pyro has curled up in one corner, and the RED Engineer waits with them for his counterpart to return. He has an inkling as to what the man might be thinking, and it might not be a good idea, it might even be a bad one, but that doesn't mean it won't work...

40 .

1: poor Pyro oh my god don't die please!
2: Solly your an ass, nobody like you (lies all lies I love him) go sit in the corner!
3: Why am I nervous about Engineers plan?
And last bt not least

41 .

Interrupting the end of the world yet again because there was a request for some Sniper/Spy that I could not resist:

In virtually every single fanfiction with Spy and Sniper I've ever seen, Spy is always the one doing the pursuing. The sole exceptions to this rule are stories where Sniper is a rapist, and *even then* Spy rarely seems truly reluctant.

On the one hand, it makes sense: canonically Spy gets laid a lot and is a master of seduction, whereas Sniper is a loner who spends months by himself in the unforgiving Australian outback. Of course Spy would be by far the one more comfortable with sex.

But on the other hand, this lack of variety is tiring.

So, what I'd love to see if a fic where Sniper is the aggressive one and Spy is the reluctant one, with loads of the Belligerent Sexual Tension trope.

Here is a possible set up. BLU Spy and RED Sniper have a very intense rivalry and hate each other, with Spy scorning Sniper as a van-dwelling filthy jar-man and Sniper scoffing at Spy as a fancy bloody wuss. But as they fight each other day after day for years, they begin to develop a strong sexual attraction.

At first they both go into full-mode denial, telling themselves that they couldn't *possibly* be attracted to a stinky bushman/stuck-up backstabber. But eventually, during yet another tussle, Sniper finds that both men have an erection. He decides that he can't take it anymore and makes a move on Spy.

Spy would be extremely reluctant because he is used to have high-class lovers, and is *horrified* to find himself attracted to somebody who throws piss at him, he would much rather pretend that he isn't attracted to Sniper at all and vent his frustration by sleeping with other people. Sniper would feel extremely reluctant at first too, but get over it much more easily: as a result of living by himself for so long, he has had almost no lovers at all, so he has no preconceived notions of what his lover should be like; plus, again as a result of spending very little time among people, he isn't used to societal norms (again, this is a guy who throws his piss at people), and when he wants something he is used to just go for it.

Sniper should be very sexually aggressive and Spy very reluctant, but I don't want the fic to be outright rape. Also, I find foreplay much hotter than the sex itself, so please focus on that.

~~~Want You Bad~~~

~1- Sniper~

When the RED Sniper first started respawning with a hard-on, he decided it was a glitch in the system-- and not one he was particularly keen to talk to the Engineer about. If it was happening to everyone, then it would get fixed, and it didn't happen every time.

Besides, it was never too persistent. An earful of gunfire and a whiff of blood and cordite in the air on leaving the resupply room took care of it every time.

He made a point to quiet the part of his brain that noticed, if it only happened after he died fighting the BLU Spy-- not when it was a quick death, either, only when they really fought. Not important. Not personal. He hated the damn spook more than the rest of the BLU team combined, he wasn't about to be attracted to the stuck-up fussy backstabbing bastard.

Well... Maybe a little bit, just physically. Maybe he liked the idea of a partner just a little shorter and a little slenderer than himself. Hell, he liked the idea of having a partner, period, but his lifestyle never really allowed for much of the naughty. He'd made his peace with the difficulties of his personal life, but if anyone in the war was going to be... amenable, to shagging another bloke, maybe it was the BLU Spy. He seemed the type, with all them fancy silk suits.

He told himself not to even think it, but at the same time, he made sure their fights got more physical. It hurt more losing, and it wasn't so much more satisfying winning, but the fighting itself was... fun. A bit of grappling, a bit of physical contact, but he could still hiss and spit and pretend a fight was all it was, pretend he didn't mean to lose that ground, to prolong the struggle.


~2- Spy~

When the BLU Spy first started having stray thoughts of the enemy Sniper at... inopportune times, he brushed them away. From time to time, the brain does things, but only a fool would take those stray thoughts for real attraction. A suave and sophisticated gentleman of the world does not... does not pleasure himself to the idea of uncouth piss-hoarding bushmen, and it is only the physical action which tips him over the edge, it is not the mental image of the RED Sniper on his knees.

No, the only time he wants the Sniper on his knees is if he has a knife in the man.

And if his fantasies of violence sometimes turn to fantasies of another sort... War, he tells himself, does things to a man. Perhaps the violence is becoming fetishized, but it is not the man.

To prove it, he vows to kill the filthy hobo more often, if that is what it takes. It always seems to end in a tussle, and with the Ambassador he could avoid this, but he never thinks to in the heat of the moment.


~3- Fight~

The last round of the day is threatening to go into overtime when Sniper hears the Spy behind him, and he thanks his lucky stars for that creaky board, thinks it's curious the Spy hasn't learned to avoid it yet, it's the fifth time at least he's stepped on it.

The Sniper turns, grabbing the Spy's wrist and knocking his knife away.

"Now, now, that's not very polite." He grins, pulling the other man in close. The lack of distance emphasizes his height advantage, adds to the intimidation factor. It has nothing to do with sex, except of course, that he's beginning to accept that it might.

The Spy swears at him in French and draws his gun, but it's easy enough to grab his other wrist as well, so that the shot hits the ceiling. From there it's easy enough to hold both skinny wrists in one hand so that he can empty the gun of its bullets, and that earns him another earful.

And it isn't really anybody's fault, he decides, if French just happens to be a sexy language, even when you are cursing a blue streak. The Sniper just laughs.

The Spy growls-- growls, and that's a sound that goes straight to a man's cock if ever there was one-- and kicks out, trying to sweep the Sniper's legs out from under him.

It's a qualified success. They both go down, but the Sniper doesn't let go of the Spy's wrists, now holding one with each hand again, and he doesn't let the Spy keep the advantage for long, rolls himself back on top.

Where he notices the hard heat poking into him, and he rolls his hips forward, involuntary, with a groan.

"Get off of me, you sick bastard!" The Spy spits, and his wriggling only makes it worse.

"If that ain't the pot calling the kettle black, sweetheart." The Sniper leers at him. "Think you like rolling around with me just as much."

"I said get off of me, you filthy-- jar-man! Take your hands off me!"

The Sniper doesn't let him go-- he's not an idiot, and he can see the Spy's knife on the floor not far away-- but he lifts himself up so that they're not in any danger of grinding against each other in the struggle.

"Come on, now, no need to be a prude about it. Not so long as everybody's having a good time."

"I do not have a good time with men like you." The Spy sneers. "I have standards."

"Oh? And what's so wrong with me?"

"You THROW YOUR PISS AT ME!" He screeches.

"If you weren't always trying to sneak up on a body so you could put your knife in my back, maybe I wouldn't have to, but I'm not insulting you."

"I am a man of class, bushman. There is nothing to insult. But I could have my pick of lovers. Men, women... the best in the world have been in my bed. You are a lonely freak who lives in a van with his jars of urine. I think I can do better."

"You don't want to do better. You like me." The Sniper challenges, tightening his grip on the Spy's wrists. "I think you get off on it. You could go around in your fancy suits and charm any little sheila you wanted into bed, but admit it, you like the thought of a filthy bushman dominating you..."

"Let. Me. Go."

He transfers one of the Spy's wrists to his other hand, keeps him pinned while he goes for his kukri. "Fine, I'll let you go, but once I do, you'd better go, 'cause I'm not just gonna let you up so you can kill me. Run along now, sweetheart, because if we fight again, I'll win again."

The Spy straightens his suit and tie as slowly as he dares and as steadily as he can, before he gathers his fallen weapons and leaves.


~4- Break~

When the weekend comes, the Spy has a plan. He is going to forget all about the feel of the Sniper's body over his, going to forget all about his ill-conceived attraction to the other man-- even in male partners, hypermasculinity had never been his idea of attractive.

He considers seducing his own opposite number. A man like himself, that is his idea of the perfect man. Well-dressed, urbane. But of course the RED Spy is off visiting his own lover... With that possibility removed, he considers women-- the town of Teufort holds no options, when it comes to taking a male lover, and even if it did, the men there are no better than the Sniper. Even those who are less filthy are less well-traveled...

He thinks of seducing a few of the ladies, but they don't meet his standards either. Each one has her own flaws, and he flirts, steals a few kisses even, but he does not pursue any of them to the finish.

When he is allowed a longer vacation, it will be easy to find suitable bed partners, he tells himself. Even the nearest metropolis will have a few, perhaps even a man or two along with the women. It is more difficult to arrange, but for a man as charming and seductive as the Spy is, not impossible.

He has just gone too long without companionship, that is all. Once he has sated himself on the beautiful women of the world, or the beautiful boys, he will have no more interest in the dirty Sniper.


~5- Fuck~

It's Monday afternoon and ten minutes to the night's ceasefire when the creaky board sounds again, and in seconds the Sniper has the Spy disarmed and up against the wall.

"Almost think you want to get caught."

"Hmph. And just when I almost thought you had half a brain. Why would I want that?"

"Oh, you tell me." He leans in until their chests just touch, works a thigh between the Spy's legs. "But that loose board's been there ages, and you tip me off every time, so you must not want to get rid of me too fast."

"You are delusional, bushman."

"Aw, give us a kiss, sweetheart." He laughs, nuzzling the Spy's cheek. "You're getting hard already, ain't ya?"


The Sniper presses up, crowds in even more. "Tell me you don't want it."

"I don't."

"Yeah? Tell me and mean it. I'll even turn my back on you this time, if you can convince me."

"I don't..." The Spy tips his head back and grinds against the Sniper's thigh. "I cannot stand you."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm sure I'm so crazy about the poncy bastard who's always stabbing me and mocking my van. I'm not asking you to marry me here."

"Filthy bushman."

"Bloody spook." This time he kisses the Spy full on the lips, delves in when the other man's mouth opens immediately.

"I... should have... bitten you," The Spy pants.

"Go right on ahead. Might be fun." The Sniper grins. "So... what do you normally do in bed, with all these men who are so much better than me?"

"I fuck them."

"Really? Woulda thought it'd be the other way around..." He kisses him again, hard, and when the Spy bites at his lip, he just kisses him harder and thrusts their hips together.

"Monsieur Sniper, I have no interest in bending over for you."

"Just like you had no interest in the rest of it?"

"No. But... If you have no interest in doing the same for me, I quite like sucking cock. And I am very skilled."

He releases the Spy's wrists to tear at both their clothing, their mouths crash together again as he does, and the Spy's hands join his in the effort to get them both naked.

The Sniper isn't sure they'll get around to it, at least not this time, the way they can't help themselves every time their bodies come into contact, the way they rut against each other, hands everywhere, kisses sharp and hungry. They move from the wall to the floor, but the position doesn't change much. He's still pinning the lean body down with his own.

The Spy grips the Sniper's arms, his hips bucking up, his teeth closing on one shoulder to muffle his voice.

"Harder," Sniper hisses, starts exploring his way across the Spy's chest.

The Spy bites down until he draws blood, they move against each other faster.

"Pity," The Spy sighs, grinning up at the Sniper. "I will have to teach you a lesson the next time."

"A lesson about sucking cock?"

"I'll have you on your knees yet. I do know where that loose board is, you know."

"Oh, I know." The Sniper chuckles.

"Next time you will not hear me coming... until it is too late."

A little thrill takes the Sniper at this. As much as winning their little wrestling matches has proved rewarding the past couple times, he doesn't mind the idea of being forced to submit, either, as long as it means they'll get to have a little more fun with each other.

And he wants to get his hands on the Spy's cock next time, and his mouth. Everything went too fast this time, too heated and him too close. He wants to explore a little more of the other man, and to take his time doing it. The Spy might get him on his knees, might take the upper hand, but that doesn't mean the Sniper won't be able to make the man beg a little, too...

And maybe the Spy's arse won't be off the table forever.

"Tell you what..." He tosses the Spy his clothes. "Why don't you and me keep carrying on like we always have done, and at the end of the week, whoever wins the most fights... wins?"

"A contest? Oh, cherie, this weekend, I will fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for days." The Spy promises.

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart, I'll get you yet." He smiles lazily as he dresses as well, and he doesn't stop smiling even as he makes his way back to the RED base.

He'll do his damnedest to win, but the losses could be just as fun...

42 .

(Captcha says 'farm'... I guess it's not a zoo.)

Long as I can't sleep, more of this one also.

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.8~~~

The BLU Engineer returns to the medical wing with a small glass vial of metal shavings and his toolbox. He pauses in the infirmary, sets his things on an empty bed so that he can refresh the cool damp towels for the RED Pyro and give the RED Soldier a friendly thump on the shoulder. Then he grabs up his things and moves on to the lab.

Inside, the RED Engineer is pacing, arms crossed. The BLU Pyro stands, radiating excitement, and both medics leave their huddled conferences with their respective heavies.

"Before I bring up anything crazy, Doc-- Docs-- let me ask; Any reason you can think of for the two of us to be real genetically similar to the Snipers?"

"Absolutely none-- ah, not in your initial medical reports for BLU, nor in most updates. If anything..." The BLU Medic grabs his notebook and rips out a sheet, drawing up a small graph from memory, pausing to make estimates or to rack his brains. "This is a chart of your hormone levels during the course of your employment. As you see, most are steady, and in your last full work-up, we saw this spike in androgen, and this one in testosterone-- some others... those two are the most striking. Meanwhile..."

The others gather around as he plots a second little chart. "Meanwhile, Herr Sniper began with slightly elevated levels of several hormones, only to drop slowly and steadily, and finally to even out."

"Ayup." The RED Engineer nods, then points to the vial. "Now what I want to know is, how'd you get your hands on that"

"Wasn't easy, but you could say I had a little help. Now, I'm no medical doctor, but I'm pretty sure injecting people full of metal filings ain't no way to treat a disease. But, melt a little down to coat the tips of your hypodermics with, and it'll be an advantage."

"I still don't know what any of you are talking about." The RED Medic snorts.


"Hudda hudda!"

"Not enough to make a fella kangaroo-punching crazy. Now, Sniper's well below the normal Australian levels of Australium exposure, was before he ever showed up to work here, and any exposure level he might have had has tapered off since he's been in America, but he's also been keeping himself separate from the rest of us, that accounts for his being healthy."

"But neither one of us has really locked ourselves away." The RED Engineer says. "But I been around the stuff. For work-- and I didn't ask many questions, either."

"Had a good chunk left in my workshop for a spell." The BLU Engineer chuckles dryly. He's well on his way to thinking the two of them came by their snatches of the element by very similar means.

"And you think exposing everyone to trace amounts of this..."

"Will buy a little more time while you keep working out a cure. Course, if I'd thought of it sooner, we coulda rigged up the plated hypos before everyone got their shots, but maybe, like you said, just keeping trace amounts around."

"This is a bad idea." The BLU Medic says. "You saw the Soldier and I earlier. Whatever the benefits of Australium exposure, the dangers of raising the collective testosterone levels of every man on this base... We would kill each other!"

"We just need to control the rate of exposure. Enough to up a few hormones, not enough to put everyone's testosterone into overdrive. And think of it-- Australium's not just the reason for leaps in teleport technology and weapons development. It's the stuff behind every medical development for the last hundred years. It could be your only chance to cure us in time."

"... Has it made you smarter?"

"You've seen what we came up with new since we got our hands one some, Doc, and that's without consulting with each other."

"Leave it here. Any of the stuff you have, either of you, bring it here or bury it." The RED Medic orders. "Yes, we could use the help, if help it can, but I do not want a bunch of armed mercenaries trapped together and getting all the more aggressive. We don't have respawn to fall back on anymore."

"Sure thing, Doc." The BLU Engineer touches the brim of his hardhat. "But it's not much."

"Yes, well, that may be a blessing..."

43 .

yummy spy and sniper action! I also can't wait to see where edge of doom is going.

44 .

I think this is the first time someone's employed Australium for its enhancing effects in a fic, at least as far as I remember.

45 .

Thanks! (And really? It seems weird to me that no one else has played around with Australium before... Go me?)

(um... next time, full on Heavy/Medic porn, this time just some sick Pyro angst)

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.9~~~

"Solly?" The RED Pyro coughs.

RED Soldier doesn't know what to do now that the man is awake. Find someone to give him morphine, maybe, but he's not sure. He doesn't know much about how much of any kind of drug anyone ought to have, however sick they are, he doesn't even really know how bad the other man is hurting.

"I am right here, Private." He answers.

"C'n I have some water?" Another cough, a weak giggle.

Soldier complies. He's not used to being gentle with anyone, and he's never really needed to be, but he does his best, tries to imagine it's like handling a baby kitten or something small and soft like that. He's afraid he doesn't do a very good job.

"Dammit, I wish being sick was something you could hit with a shovel." He sighs. "I'd beat that being sick's ass with a shovel so hard he wouldn't know it from a hole in the ground! Why can't being sick just be... just be a guy? A guy I can hit?"

The Pyro giggles again, even though it makes his cough worse. "Wish you could, too, but... 's okay."

"Is not." Soldier crosses his arms. "You are a member of my TEAM. This is unacceptable. I do not agree with this!"

"Solly... you're a crazy man, but I like you a lot. Maybe 'cause I am, too."

"Yes." He agrees. Maybe everyone was crazy, but he and the Pyro, they were the same kind of crazy sometimes. They loved their jobs, and even when the working day was over, they cared about being the best there was-- Soldier read his books about war and practiced his drills, the Pyro fiddled around with his flamethrowers and set practice fires and learned how to do some really nifty things with the airblast... and they had fun with it. They were a team, they made each other better.

He wouldn't like the idea of any of his men dying, because they were all a part of his team, but the Pyro... that seemed just plain unfair. Maybe not so unfair as the Scout, of course, kid was just a boy, but still...

"I'd trade places with you." He says. It is absolutely true, and no one was going to accuse him of being sentimental just because of it, either. That was just part of being a merry band of brothers, and that was something Shakespearicles wrote about, and he invented the damn rocket launcher. So if there was anything Soldier was sure about, it was the basic rightness of being willing to die for a friend.

"Nah." The Pyro shakes his head. "Will you do something for me? If I die?"

"I will fistfight the Devil himself, little buddy."

"I always wanted a Viking funeral."

"Then you will get the Vikingest damn funeral that ever... Viked!" Soldier promises. "Can... can't I just... can't I give you a Viking funeral when we're old?"

"Don't... don't think so. Unless you wanna keep me around, but... probably start to smell... You could have me stuffed."

He shakes his head. He doesn't think there's much call for stuffed Vikings.

"I just want you to stay alive." He admits. For forever. He was so used to the impermanence of death, so used to the joys of their little technological Valhalla, that the idea of really losing someone is hard to take, in a way it never used to be. Somewhere along the line, real death stopped being a part of life.

The Pyro doesn't say anything back. He's sleeping again. But the Soldier can see his chest rise and fall, can even hear the rattling of his breath.

It doesn't keep him from worrying, but it keeps him from losing it completely.

46 .

Hmm. You know, the concept of Valhalla (the equivalent of Heaven for Vikings) was an afterlife of feasting, then spending the day fighting and beating the shit out of each other, and the next day everything gets reset and they get to do it all over again. Doesn't sound too far from what RED and BLU experience with their jobs.

47 .

"He wouldn't like the idea of any of his men dying"

Doesn't that imply that none of his men have died yet? RED Spy has already died.

48 .

their little technological Valhalla
I've often enjoyed the idea that video games are Valhalla, and that the souls of dead vikings dwell in Duke Nukem or whoever.

49 .

Shakespearicles I laughed, hard.

50 .


I have been waiting for a chance to use that turn of phrase because of how fundamentally right-on it seemed. Fight all day, drink all night... or, if you're Demo, do both all the time...


Oh, crapnuggets, that was badly worded... On the one hand, Spy was a lone wolf more than he was a team player, but yeah, did not mean for the RED Soldier to totally forget/ignore the fact that one of his teammates had died. Should say 'any MORE of his men dying', but I guess I can't edit... Need to pay more attention before I hit 'reply'.


Yay! Oh, Shakespearicles, your contributions to literature/rocket launchers will never be forgotten... (I love pulling out the really weird stuff from the TF2 universe, even if it's the kind of thing that may only be real in the Soldier's mind... hard to say on that one...)

Okay, chapter time!

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.10~~~

"And so he says," The BLU Medic giggles, adjusting his microscope to take a look at the newest possible cure's effect on the blood sample. "He says, 'Mister; what would YOU put in the window?'!"

The RED Medic slaps his knee and chortles. "Oh, that is a good one..."

"I know! It is my favourite, because it talks about using a scalpel to remove parts of people!"

The laughter subsides, and somberness floods the laboratory again. They have now officially depleted their stores of jokes and humorous anecdotes about medical experiments and cadaver-based practical jokes gone awry, and with the Australium gathered together there, the other men have been banned from the lab, a move which left both heavies grumbling, but obeisant.

"What if this idea does not work?" The RED Medic asks.

"I am used to suffering." His colleague shrugs. "Although, admittedly, it has been years since I have even approached the sort of agony this disease causes. Even the slowest deaths on the battlefield are quick enough. Even the worst injuries can only cause so much pain before we lose consciousness. I think we will find a cure, now, I can feel it coming. But... I do not think we will be fast enough, not for your Pyro."

"No. No, I... I have accepted that some time ago. Even if the Australium proves miraculous, we will not be fast enough. If anything, trying to cure him seems cruel, even trying to keep him alive seems cruel. But you cannot broach the topic of euthanasia to our Soldier."

"No, I have seen. I will be honest, I do not care for the idea myself. Funny, isn't it? A vivisection I am perfectly at ease with, and a mercy killing turns my stomach... Ah, vivisection is not so bad, though. I have had my insides poked at, why not the rest of them? I've just never killed one of my own patients on purpose before."

"I will do it. A little extra morphine now will spare the use of more down the road, and... And then he can just sleep. The Soldier does not know about proper dosages, if it is me, he will not suspect."

"Sehr gut. It is best, I'm sure. Ah!" He adjusts the microscope again. "Do you see this?"

The RED Medic looks in on the other doctor's sample. "This can't be..."

"We won't know 'til morning. Not at this rate. But it is more promising than anything else, is it not?" Now, he can't help smiling, neither man can, grins growing manic.

An anguished wail comes from the infirmary, and both grins falter.

"Well. It sounds like euthanasia will not be among your duties, Doctor..." The BLU Medic pats the other man's shoulder.

"For tonight, we can stop. Something will have to be done about the body right away... And anyway, at this rate..."

"We cannot be sure until morning. Come. Come, let us... let us deal with your teammate."

"Can you get him breathing again, Doc?" The RED Soldier asks, helmet in his hands as he looks between the two approaching medics.

"No. Even were it possible... it would not be right."

He nods, frowning at the floor. "Then... what do you know about Viking funerals?"

The RED Medic laughs, softly. "Herr Soldier, that sounds like a fitting tribute indeed. Why don't we gather the others outside?"

The Soldier scoops the Pyro's body up, and even though it's no longer important to, he stills tries to be gentle with the other man.

Outside, the men build a pyre.

"Wait!" The RED Soldier stops the BLU Pyro. "Wait, okay?"

The BLU Pyro gives him a nod and a thumbs up, and he races towards the RED base. When he returns, he's carrying his own slightly battered Viking helmet, and he places it on the dead man's head.

"Okay. I guess now it can be a real Viking funeral. And..." He unpins his medal and lays it on the dead man's chest. "All right? Because he deserves it! Because he wouldn't have got sick if he wasn't trying to give all of us a chance!"

The BLU Soldier steps forward and unfixes his own medal to add. "I guess that deserves a medal if anything does."

"Hudda hudda?"

The RED Soldier nods, and both soldiers back away from the pyre so that the BLU Pyro can set it ablaze.

"You'll have to excuse me." The BLU Medic whispers to those near him. "I hate to leave in the middle of a funeral, I just... I cannot stand the smell of burning flesh. I feel it would be ruder to have to vomit while everyone is saying their fond goodbyes."

The BLU Heavy nods. "Will cover for you, Doktor. Lie down inside."

"Nobody likes the smell." The RED Medic agrees. It's reminiscent of too many ambushes on the battlefield, and it is one of the worst ways to die. Still... still, the dead man is his teammate. He stays for the duration of the funeral.

After, though... After he surprises himself, the strength with which he drags his Heavy back to the room they share-- not that he could drag the man if he did not want to go, but the fact that his only thought was to grab and move him physically, rather than to ask him to come, or to trust that he would be close behind, is somewhat strange.

The fervor with which he strips them both of their clothes is less surprising-- it is only natural to want to prove their own continuing lives to themselves and each other through any means possible, and what could affirm life more than this?-- but he is not accustomed to taking the lead with so much force. In the course of their relationship, he has been happy to allow the Heavy to lead, to switch control somewhat gently between them. He has never demanded, the way he does now.

He has already smuggled one of the surplus jars of petroleum jelly from the RED base's infirmary into their room for his own purposes, but this is the first time he has actually used it this way, and as a prelude to greater pleasure.

He kneels behind his Heavy, one finger already slick and deep inside, and he knows exactly what he is doing, even if he has never used that knowledge quite this way before.

"Does this feel good for you?" He asks, hopes the answer will be yes, doesn't know how he'll stop himself if it isn't. Perhaps he will ask the Heavy to stop him, he feels it might be the only way.

"Da, is good..." Heavy does not stop him. "Can be more."

Medic inserts another finger, but when that goes easy enough, when his Heavy makes no protest except to ask for more, he strips off his gloves and slicks up his cock.

"You are fantastic," He whispers, before animal lust takes over and words are forgotten. When he can't hold back the little strangled cries any more, he muffles his voice against Heavy's back, hears the sound of Heavy smothering his own groans into a pillow.

He feels like he is flying, invincible and miles above the poor sick earth. He feels as though he could keep at it for hours, despite the tight heat and intensity, does not come until after he has brought his Heavy to completion, and the soft cry and sudden tightening pull him over the edge. It is only then that he feels the hammering of his heart in his chest and the burn in his lungs, in several muscles, and he relaxes against his Heavy, sweat plastering his hair down, sweat plastering their bodies together, slippery and sticky all at once, and he is still deep inside his lover's body, and none of the things he knows about the world outside their little room can make life seem less than wonderful.

"Very good," Heavy reaches back awkwardly to caress what he can reach of his Doktor. "We do this more often now... Maybe Doktor like, too? If is other way next time?"

"You are so much bigger than me," The Medic laughs, exhausted. "I don't know if I can. We'll try."

"Is still good. Doktor has nice hands. Nice mouth." Heavy lowers himself down carefully until he is lying on his stomach, does so without dislodging his Doktor. "Has nice body... we can do this any kind of way, is still good..."

"Good." Medic kisses one vast shoulder blade. "I like your body very much as well, mein Schatz... and those big hands... and that mouth... I am sure I will enjoy... mm, everything."

He yawns, and the Heavy follows suit.

"Think work makes Doktor very forceful now," Heavy points out.

"Dear me... I suppose I hadn't considered it. Still, it is only until the cure is finished. Then I should go back to normal."

"Pity. Like forceful Doktor."

"Well, mein Schatz... I can still be forceful from time to time, even without any strange elements preying upon my adrenal system."

"Khorosho." Heavy yawns again, eyelids drooping shut.

Before long, he is snoring, and Medic pulls out, grabs a discarded shirt to clean them both off a bit, and the blankets folded at the foot of the bed they had not been using.

"Schlaf, mein Heavy..." He sighs, covering them both lightly and taking one of the Heavy's hands in his own.

In the morning, he would have results, and he felt confident they would be good ones. Whatever came after... whatever came after, he would have love.

51 .

Can't wait for more!

52 .

~~~The Edge of Doom ch.11 (final chapter)~~~

The cure is good, one of the few small mercies the men of RED and BLU had seen since the outbreak.

"Will we be able to make more?" The BLU Engineer asks, squeezing down on a fresh bandage. The injection still burned, about as much as the little stopgap measure had, but it was a good kind of burn... if only because he knew it meant he'd stay well, meant they'd all get well and stay that way.

"Ja, ja, with the things we take with us, and-- and hopefully we will be able to find a hospital or something like that, a place to work."

The heavies have begun the process of packing up the base, the things they'll be likely to need, not just from the laboratory but from the store rooms, the mess, everywhere. There are still sixteen of them, and they have the two Snipers' vans to travel in, and the big truck from when the bases were built. The truck at least has a huge bed, dumptruck-like, for hauling earth, broken stone, lumber. It's into that that the heavies load the bulk of what the mercenaries will take with them.

"It is strange to say goodbye to it." The Spy touches one wall. "I would not be sorry to put the place behind me, if I didn't know the rest of the world will be so much worse."

The RED Sniper shrugs. "Rest of the world won't be so bad. There's a lot of it. Hope, at least."

"Do you really think the survivors who gave us our first blood samples will have outlived the Pyro?"

"Dunno, mate. Maybe not. Still, we happen across a nice town, even if there's no one left in it, it means everyone else'll have some room to spread out. You could find a house to squat in, if you wanted."

"I don't even know what I would do with myself anymore, in a house. It would be... eerie, with this much room for only myself. It is funny, I would have loved that kind of privacy, before I became one of the last men on the planet. Now stillness is terrifying, I keep thinking, suppose everyone else has succumbed to the disease in the night? Suppose I wake up the only one left?" The Spy shakes his head.

"Hope you don't plan on going the way of our--"

"Non." He says quickly. "Never that. I... I had no one to lose, and I believe he did. I am happy enough to die in my bed an old man, I never guessed I might, before."

"Don't think any of us did." The BLU Sniper snorts. "Take as many as'll fit with me, and once we hit a good town and I drop everyone off, I think I'll drive on. Remote little spots in the desert? Chance I might meet someone else living, someone I could bring back."

"What if there is no one else?" The BLU Scout asks.

"Then I don't mind spending the rest of my life just driving out on my lonesome. Take petrol whenever I find pumps out there. Never had any trouble finding enough food and water before, in worse deserts than this one. Don't worry about it, Sporto."

"Yes, keep your hopes up, we shall see what the cat drags in." The BLU Medic pats the boy on the shoulder. It still has the tendency to creep the others out, when he makes these attempts to be warm and genial, but they're beginning to grow accustomed to his new attitude.

The Scout still hasn't forgotten the time that a friendly overture from his team's Medic ended with things he didn't even understand happening to his spleen, an experiment that ended with a painful and messy trip through respawn, but his guard is lower than it once was, when it comes to such moments.

They finally finish loading up their necessities, and then themselves, the conditions cramped but manageable. The trip is long, but when they finally come upon the town, with the sun just beginning to rise, it's a beautiful sight.

There is cleaning to be done, of course, though animals have taken care of the worst of messes, and there is nothing left that proves too much of a problem for battle-hardened men. They bury a few skeletons and transform an inn into a livable space, before they collapse, exhausted, into beds and onto sofas and chairs.

After a good sleep, they work on restoring the doctor's office-- there is no proper hospital, but they have brought enough of their own, and the engineers are able to set up generators to run while they work on restoring limited amounts of power. The BLU Sniper drives off in one direction, to search, and the RED Soldier takes an abandoned car and drives off in another. The others work.

"Doktor..." The RED Heavy pulls his Medic close, at the end of their second day of making the town habitable. "Really think will be other survivors?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But we have survived. This place... perhaps it is not where I would have chosen to retire, if I had much choice, but it is better, to have the man I would choose to retire with."

Heavy kisses him. They are alone, if not in perfect seclusion, but he no longer worries about what the others may think. He is confident he could take all comers, if after the end of the world, anyone still cared what two men did together. If their little colony survived long enough, and with no women found, then the others would make similar arrangements, he had no doubts. He was lucky to have someone he loved, someone he was truly attracted to, and the time for carefully guarding this as secret was past. He had no plans to flaunt anything, but he would not hide.

Hiding would be pointless, after all. Even with enough space now for every man to take four walls to himself, he shared a room and a bed with his Doktor, it would be a poorly kept secret even if they tried.

And it was something good, to come of this new and empty world, if it meant that the two of them were free.


~One Year Later~

"I still worry it ain't right." The BLU Engineer paces the waiting room of Town's doctor's office-cum-tiny hospital.

"Bit late for that, mate." The BLU Sniper lounges in one of the molded plastic chairs.

"You hardly found anyone-- Not saying you weren't trying, and it's good having you back, and with a couple new friends-- but we haven't heard from the other Soldier since he run off, and..." He looks around at the others.

The BLU Soldier is there, standing at attention. Both demomen are toasting and singing in the corner. The BLU Scout is running laps around the waiting room, the BLU Heavy leaning against a wall. Outside, the BLU Spy and RED Sniper are smoking.

"Try and be happy."

He sighs and looks down at the cigar in his overall pocket. "I'm trying. Lord knows I want to be. I start to be, every time I think of it, but then I think too damn much and I can't be anymore. What's gonna happen when he's alone? None of us'll be around forever. And... and I hate thinking... thinking someday he'll have nobody to love. Or... And what if-- What if he's a girl?"

"What difference does that make?" The BLU Sniper asks.

"I don't even know, and of course his mother'd slap me one for asking, you can bet. I'd just worry a hell of a lot more if she was one, that's all I know."

"I'll go out looking again. And you got a radio signal going. I know twenty ain't much of a population, but it's not hopeless. And look, so maybe she will be a girl, that's not so bad-- that orphan boy's only four, hardly an age difference at all, they could have each other when the rest of us are dead. Sure, it's no future for humanity, but it's a future for your little one."

He rests his head in his hands and sighs. "Who's taking care of him?"

"Petersens will, once they're strong enough. Doc's been looking after all three of them 'til then."

"Good, good, that's good..."

"This will be fine." BLU Heavy finally speaks, levering himself up away from the wall. "Doktor will do good job, and Engineer's wife is strong woman, good for having baby too."

The others nod. "Any woman who can shake off a supervirus like it weren't a thing and then kill a coyote with an axe handle's worth keeping in a world like this one."

"She's a firecracker, yup." The Engineer smiles in spite of himself. "I still worry about bringing a baby up. Town's only got twenty people."

The door between the waiting room and the exam room swings open. "Twenty one people, Herr Engineer. Mazel Tov." The BLU Medic waves him forward.

"Healthy?" He almost trips getting to his feet.

"I have never delivered a healthier infant. Well... I have never delivered an infant... Still, yes, healthy. If you wish to have any say in naming her, you may want to come with me."

The men in the waiting room cheer, clap and hoot and holler, smack the Engineer on the back as he walks, unsteady, towards his wife and baby daughter.

"I guess I better go out and change the sign." Scout says. "Town, Population twenty-one."

It's better than they had honestly thought they would do, when it all began. It might even be a miracle.


(man, I don't know what to say... I just like giving Engie kids, I guess. Well, I'm not alone in that, at least...)

53 .


How I have loved this story. Thanks for writing this and even now I am absolutely stoked that you took my prompt (no one has ever taken one of my requests before this).

Heavy/Medic + supervirus = awesome + win

It's realistic enough to scare, but hopeful enough to satisfy my need for a happy ending.

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you

54 .

wonderfull. simply wonderfull. you made me cry twice, and you jerked my emotions around effortlessly! you are an amazing writer anne, i hope to see more in the future. as for the porny stuff i could not have enjoyed it more~ fabulous!

55 .

i love everything you've writen so far. you have a gift for being able to sway emotions with words, smiling one second and near tears the next. beautiful work, anne is credit to team. gahhh~ perhaps the edge of doom is in need of a fanart as well. there where so many moments i'd love to bring to life visualy~

56 .


I never say no to fanart.

And... filling some prompt-age;

Engie/Pyro pretty please?

There's barely any, and in all the ones I've seen, Pyro always tops.
Secondary prompt:

I agree with this.

And to add to this request for me, I would LOVE for Engineer to top a shy, awkward Pyro. As in, the Pyro (preferably a male Pyro) doesn't really feel comfortable coming out of his suit, but Engineer coaxes him out of it and then its sweet loving from there.

And fic!

~~~ I Just Want To Be The One You Love~~~

It starts with the note in his locker in the resupply room-- at least, as far as Dell knows, that's where it starts-- and it's a little juvenile, but kind of charming as well.

The note is anonymous, but he figures it for the Pyro's work. Pyro, of course, won't say a thing about it, not even in the muffled mumbles he speaks in through the filter of the mask, but now that Dell knows, things change.

He plays his guitar more often for the other man, when they're relaxing after work. He finds nice things to say whenever an opportunity presents itself.

"You don't have to be so shy, you know," He finally says, a week after the note in his locker, as they sit around the Intel Room, Dispenser fueling endless spy checks, Sentry quietly awaiting any sign of the other team.


"I never been... what you'd call averse, to the idea of... certain things." Dell scratches the back of his neck. "Wouldn't be averse to the idea of certain things with you, I guess, is what I mean to say. More the, uh, opposite. Of averse. We like spending time around each other well enough. Kind of silly of us, if you like me more than just a little, and I like you more than just a little, and the two of us not doing a thing about it."


"Anyway, if you ever want to... want to talk about it, I'm always just... around." He smiles. "And you're welcome to drop by any old time you like."

The Scout tries to break through their defenses after that, dodges the Sentry but not the flamethrower. Conversation lulls after that point, as the rest of the other team follows close behind in an attempt to clear out the protective nest they've got built up, and they both need to work to keep their intelligence safe.

Still, when the five o' clock whistle's blown and everyone's cleaned up some, shelved their gear and gone on to their own pursuits, the Pyro does come by the workshop.

"Mind taking that mask off? I wouldn't mind seeing the face of the fella I been flirting with all this week." Dell skates a finger along the edge of the filter, just barely touching.

"Hudda... hurm hrdrhss... hurs hudda fhr n..."

"Well, I won't push if you're sure, but it'd be easier to talk. And I'm not exactly sure how I'm suppose to kiss ya with it on."

"Yuhr hrna krs mhr?"

"... If you want."

The Pyro takes the mask off, hesitant. "Okay. I... Okay."

His voice is clearer, though still raspy, without the mask. He keeps his face down, turned to the side, his shoulders hunching up, but then callused fingers tip his chin in towards Dell.

"There now. That's not so bad."

"Sure, except for the part where I'm a monster..."

"A coupla scars do not a monster make. Pretty handsome underneath all that..."

He looks up, blushing. "No one's ever-- I mean, most folks never see my-- I mean-- Yeah?"

"So, do I get to kiss you, Handsome?" Dell smiles, warmly and gently as he can, and waits for the answering nod.

"I always did like you a lot," The Pyro sighs, leaning down to meet the other man's lips.


Another week passes, with not much more than that, a few stolen kisses down in the workshop, until the Pyro itches to put his mask back on.

They still talk, and Dell is getting better at figuring out the mumbles, and anyway, he finds notes in his locker more often now, filled with half-conversations, replies to things Dell's talked about the night before and questions about the things he hadn't quite understood. Dell still plays guitar, little snatches of love songs, when he can remember them, and other songs, when he doesn't. They still hold hands, or lean shoulder-against-shoulder, when they leave the workshop at night to set up a campfire together, to watch the flames and the stars overhead.

The stars never used to shine quite so big and bright away from home, but they've begun to.

Still, there's more to life, more to a relationship, than stealing kisses from a man who lives inside a mask, and Dell wants more than anything to convince the man he doesn't need it, not all the time.

He's not much good at words of love, though he does his awkward best, but he's not so bad at stealing kisses, not so bad at gentling touches.

"I'd like to make love to you, sometime." He broaches the topic when they're out by the fire-- it means talking with the mask between them, but it also means Pyro's at ease, happy.

There's a long pause, and after a while, he takes it as permission to continue.

"Guess it doesn't have to be tonight, of course. Of course it doesn't have to be tonight... Know you're shy and all, but your face has never put me off. And I'd be sweet to you... want to be."

It's the first time the Pyro's mask has come off anywhere but in the workshop. "Do you want to come--come to m-my room?"

Dell nods, kissing him gently. "Meet you up there in a bit. I'll take care of the fire first, give you a little time to... think about what you want from me, maybe, I don't know."

"Thanks." He smiles. "I don't really know either. I haven't been slow 'cause I don't want to. I do. I've always been..."

He touches the scar that webs across his cheek and shrugs.

"If you ever want to tell me the story behind it, I'll listen. If you never do..." Dell shrugs too. Gives the Pyro some time before he finally dumps a bucket of sand out over the fire, stirs it with a stick after a while to make sure the embers have all been smothered.

Up in the base's private quarters, the areas that are never accessible during the heat of battle, he finds the Pyro's room. He knocks-- it seems the gentlemanly thing to do-- and he's granted entry.

He still has his guitar. He'd had it down by the campfire, and he hadn't bothered to put it away anyplace. He plays a bit of 'Shine On, Harvest Moon', then a little Autry, a little Ink Spots, while the Pyro tries to relax. The mask is still off, the boots kicked under the bed, his harness hanging up, but everything else is still in place.

Dell sets the guitar aside, peels away one glove, slowly. Pyro's left hand has old scars that lick across the back, the first knuckle of his index finger is painful looking, but most of the burn scar doesn't extend so far. The skin is smooth under his lips, the feel of scar tissue strange, but not bad. He even likes it, the silkiness so different from his own rough hands, coarse hair across the backs. Maybe kissing a lady's hand would be more like kissing skin this smooth, but he's never had luck with ladies or needed it. Dell really only wants luck with one man right now.

Pyro lets him unzip the suit. His scars run up his arm to disappear into his undershirt, and when he shrugs out of that, Dell explores the way they wrap around his body, with his hands and his mouth.

"No-- nobody's ever... nobody's ever touched me. Like this. Scars since I was-- I've never been--"

"Sh-sh-sh... Honey, ain't nobody in this world ever looked better to me than you do right now, scars and all." He works the Pyro's long underwear down, strokes him gently. "Bout time someone loved you proper, and I'm happy to be the man for the job."

The Pyro giggles. "Dunno. I guess. I'm happy you-- I'm happy... I'm happy."

"Good." Dell looks serious for a moment, but not too serious, not too long, before the gentle smile is back.

"There-- There's-- In the bathroom... um... I use it if I accidentally-- if I burn myself, but it's... it's real-really slick, and... If you wanted..." Pyro babbles, glancing towards the door to his private half-bath.

It doesn't take Dell long to find what he was talking about. He does take his time opening the other man up, keeps on stroking and kissing and whispering anything he can think to say.

Sex Dell has no problem with. In his mind's eye it's a series of simple engineering problems, and it's easy to see the solutions, to move just right, to position them just so for the maximum result from the minimum effort. Thinking through the base mechanics of it helps, too, when it comes to keeping his rational mind engaged and his libido burning low and slow. He manages to solve a completely unrelated problem just from trying not to come too fast.

Finally, though, he brings the Pyro over the edge, and then he lets himself go, forgets eleven whole disciplines, forgets everything he ever knew about science, forgets everything he ever knew about anything, except the exact pattern of the Pyro's scars and how his body feels when it clenches and writhes.

"Would you stay with me tonight?" The Pyro asks, as they pull themselves apart and clean up as best they can with a handful of tissues.

He buries himself in his blankets, and Dell knows he means to hide the scars again, but he hasn't gone for his mask and he hasn't asked him to go-- done the opposite, hasn't he? Counts as progress, in his mind.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, pardner." He kisses the other man's cheek, then slips under the covers himself. He'll have to wake early, to get back to his rollaway bed in the workshop before anyone else rises, but he'd rather wake up early than sneak out right after, rather wake up early any day of the week. "I love you."

"I believe you." The Pyro sighs.

It's exactly what Dell hoped to hear.

57 .

You made me DAAAAAW
And for that I love you

58 .

My teeth hurt. In a good way. That ending, oh my god. You should write something else with that Pyro, I love him! I also appreciate how you didn't go to any lengths to describe his appearance--everyone hates that feeling when an author challenges their headcanon.

59 .

>>56 This makes my heart happy. So so happy. Plus, seeing Engineer call somebody 'honey' makes me happy in my pants. Very, very well done.

Never stop, Anne. You are a force'a'nature, to be sure.

60 .

I just realised the title's from 'I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire'. Nice.

61 .

A belated 'thanks, you guys' for the last feedback.

Anyway, taking another request, so this thread's coming back (I'm sure y'all can guess what pairing this will end up with...) so I can write this puppy up:

So I have a request which may or may not be terrible?

So I have a thing for romantic bullshit. And for Spy. And born from this came this idea:

Spy is regularly used by the members of his team for his disguising ability: they ask him to disguise as the target of their affection, or maybe just some hot young thang (perhaps female?) and Spy is eventually sick of this...

UNTIL ONE DAY he is propositioned by someone (probably on his team?), and Spy is shocked to hear that not only do they not want him to use a disguise, they want him to take off his balaclava because they have a (longstanding?) crush on Spy.

There would be a romantisplosion of rainbows and unicorns and dicks.

And that is my awful idea.

~~~ Proxy ~~~

It begins when they send the Spy a new disguise kit-- 'Not To Be Used In Battle', the note accompanying it. 'Prototype'.

A second note explains the problems in using these particular disguises during combat; Unlike the kit he regularly employs, his own team will not be able to see through these. Furthermore, the new masks include copies of his own team, as well as the REDs, and even a few generic 'civilian' faces, male and female. Instead of the full masks of his working kit, these cover only half the face. He could smoke, or even eat and drink, without having to remove them...

He gets a kick out of it, rereading the note and slipping into a blonde woman's face. Fooling his own team? The disguise may be useless on the battlefield, but for having a little fun on a dull base...

Spy strolls into the common lounge, laughs quietly to himself at the way an uneven number of eyes bulge at his entrance, the Scout and the Demoman practically drooling, the others merely shocked. The Engineer and the Pyro both inscrutable behind dark lenses.

A shame the Sniper is off on his own, the Spy thinks. He would have liked to get everyone's reaction at once.

After the men have gaped long enough, he pulls the domino mask off with a flourish and shows it around, to a mixture of disappointed groans and scientific interest.

"They sent me the prototype, even though it will be useless on the field. Customer feedback program." He shrugs. "You should have seen your faces..."

"Don't have to be useless on the field..." The Engineer takes it, turns it over in his hands. "Not that I studied disguise technology much, but I'd take a look-see... If I could compare it to one of the old model, I might be able to work something out, even."

"Not that one!" The Scout says, too quickly. "I... I mean..."

Spy smirks down at him. "Oh, you like her, petit?"

"Shut up."

"Here." The Spy digs out the Engineer's own face from the prototype kit, and then the RED Scout-- a disguise he rarely employs for practical purposes anyway. "Any improvements you can make will be welcome."


That night, when the knock on his door comes, he expects the Scout. He is, therefore, slightly surprised to see the Demoman standing nervously in the hall.

"Can I help you?"

"Ah... You remember th'other week...? In the mess, ah..."

Spy remembers, mentioning his own flexible sexuality over dinner, mostly to see how many spit takes he could get, though he had not been above gauging interest. No one had approached him since then, but... that was before he could look like a woman for them. He feels a little pang at that, something sick and bitter, but lets it go.

"I just... I've nae been with a lass in a long time, and... Ye might not have seen yourself, but..."

"Yes, according to the brochure, she is a looker." He smirks. "They call the model 'Sharon'..."

"Do a favour for a lonely man..."

He considers it. It could be fun, just for an evening. It might have its benefits, giving out a little relief-- might make for a happier and more productive demolitions expert in the field come Monday morning...

On the other hand, the man smells strongly of hard cider and desperation. And disguising himself as a woman to submit to teammates who would never look at him otherwise chafed, it felt... cheap.

"What is in it for me?" He lets the other man into his room.

"... What do you want?"

He shrugs. "If I think of something you can do for me later, I guess I'll let you know."

The Demoman smiles hopefully. Spy slips the half mask on and affects a throaty-but-feminine tone. "And what would you like from me, Monsieur?"

He has to push the other man off to avoid a kiss with its own alcohol content, but the slight is forgotten as soon as he drops to his knees. 'Sharon' has a great skill for blowjobs, and some very flattering things to say about the specimen at hand.


The next night, it is the Scout.

"Demo said you could, uh, do a guy a favor..." Scout tries for nonchalance and fails.

"What day is it today? Sunday?" He glances at his desk calender, more for show than out of need. "Fine. I shall remove your pesky virginity for you, and in exchange, you will not bother me again for a solid week-- I do not mean just for sex, I mean you will not be annoying, in my presence, for seven entire days. Do you think you can do this?"

"Of course I can! And I ain't no virgin! But, um... It's kinda hard to get much action out here, so... I mean, it's not queer if you look like a girl, right?"

"I guess not." Spy sighs. He slips the mask on and uses the voice he's already adopted for his female disguise. It is not as easy to flatter the Scout without laughing, but he manages a few sweet nothings.

"Oh man... This is freaking hot, baby..." Scout paws at him, hand going through the projected breast and hitting the Spy's chest. "Uh... That's weird."

"They're not real, boy." He cuts through, in his own voice. "You cannot touch them. Just lie back."

Scout nods and does so.

Afterward, Spy shoves him out into the hall. "You are fast."

Scout bites his tongue. He's already promised to be nice for a week. But in eight days, he's gonna have some comebacks for that one.


It is a surprise when the Soldier knocks on his door, but perhaps it shouldn't be. Spy takes out 'Sharon' again.

"I assume you are missing female companionship?"

"What? No! We are running a war here, not a brothel, missy! Take that hussy off!"

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise." Spy smirks, tucking it away. "In that case, to what do I owe the pleasure? You wish to talk tactics?"

"No, I... I... Look, no queer stuff! I just wanna talk. And not to some girly face. But I-- I can't just-- I miss--" After a strangled moment of being unable to find the words, he devolves into smacking himself in the helmet repeatedly with his shovel.

"Who do you need?" Spy puts a hand on his arm.

"Tavish..." He whispers.

"The drunken RED cyclops? That is your type?"

"I said no queer stuff, he's-- He was-- my friend, except..."

Spy sighs and dons the appropriate mask. "All right. Why don't you practice apologizing to me?"

"He'll never forgive me."

"Enough alcohol and I'm sure it won't be a problem. I mean... Och aye, laddie, what did ye want to say to me?"

He has, perhaps, done too good a job. The Soldier bursts into tears and throws himself onto the Spy.

"I am sorry for killing you all those times! It was the biggest mistake of my life!"

"There, there. I also cut your head off and... made some mistakes. Some time we will go do friend things again and it will be all right... Try not to crush me!"

A sloppy, beer-flavored kiss follows, something apparently exempt from the banner of 'queer stuff'. He has to cuddle the Soldier for the better part of the night, while trying to sound inebriated, Scottish, and conciliatory, but a blowjob is never requested.


Having given the Engineer his own face to tinker with gave the Spy his first excuse to avoid impersonating one of his own teammates-- and saved him from having to make love to the Pyro, a thing he could not quite conceive of doing. But he did not have to examine the morals of such an action, it was a question of being unable to comply with the request.

When the Medic comes to him, he does not have that excuse.

"I would... I would have to think about it. I am not so sure that I am... that I am comfortable, doing this."

"That... that is fine. I suppose I could have expected rejection." The Medic pushes his glasses up, glances away.

"The others asked for the woman, she is no one. I have even impersonated the enemy, and even then it was not... there was no sex. I think it might be... messy, to take the part of a member of the team. You understand. I will give it some more thought, but... Even I must draw a line someplace."

"That is fine, really. Besides... It would be a purely visual illusion. I would not have the feel of him."

He does consider it, though, when the Medic has gone. The Doctor is not unappealing... certainly closer to the Spy's own type than the Scout, too young and too inexperienced to have a very good time with-- at least, when impersonating a woman. But it would be equally fruitless to become too attached, knowing the man is already hopelessly in love with another.

There is another knock at his door, an hour later. Too early in the week for the Scout to be back, the Soldier had been avoiding his eye since his own visit...

The Heavy is standing out in the hall, when Spy opens the door.

"Spy... Hear you have been... helping, some of team with... personal things?"

"You are here for the blonde?" He sighs, suddenly so much wearier.

"Prefer redheads. But... more than that, prefer... other man."

"You didn't come to me when I first said I was amenable." Spy challenges.

"No. Is... man in particular. Doktor."

"Then why don't you go fuck him? He was here not an hour ago asking me to look like you. I told him I would think about it, but he'll be happier with the real thing."

The Heavy pulls Spy into a crushing hug and kisses his cheek. "Spy is credit to team!"

"You are welcome..." He wheezes. Once the big man is gone, he locks the door and does not answer anymore knocking for the rest of the night.


In the morning, there's a note, slid under his door.

'Spy. Wanted to talk to you, but guess I missed you. Always around either nest or van. Sniper'

He crumples the note up, but then smooths it out again. Only fair, perhaps... he's favored all the others.

The Engineer catches him before battle, but the news isn't good. There's not much that can be done to improve the prototype. Spy tells him he can keep working on it if he likes-- mostly, he doesn't want to have the Engineer's face in his pocket if the Pyro comes around again.

When the battle is over, he climbs up to the Sniper's nest, catching him before he can come down.

"You wanted to see me? Or... I suppose you've heard there is a rather convincing femme..."

"No. I mean yes. I heard. I... Dammit." The Sniper blows out a sigh and removes his hat, running one hand over his hair. "Do you really like doing that?"

"Sucking cock?" He raises an eyebrow.

Sniper winces at the bluntness. Spy isn't sure whether to feel sorry or satisfied. "Pretending."

"I like pretending fine."

"But-- You got to know... Some people wouldn't need you to."

"So you did not bring me here under the same pretense?" He crosses his arms. "You did not want her? Or is there another mask you would rather I wear for you?"

"No." Sniper whispers. "No masks."

"Very well... I suppose it would be nice, to be with someone who does not care what I look like for a change."

"I care." This time Spy can barely hear him.


"Dunno what else there is to say about it. Just wanted you. Didn't think I had any chance 'til you mentioned liking men fine, even then I figured maybe you'd be... I mean, I'm not exactly..."

"Not exactly what?" Spy's posture relaxes, he moves closer.

"Sophisticated. Not too young or too handsome. Thought your tastes'd be more refined. Guess I hoped if... if you didn't mind with any of the others, maybe you'd go for me..."

"I was rather sorry not to see you come around, actually..." He smiles. "When you didn't see the female disguise, I thought I missed my chance to make you look at me that way, but a part of me hoped the Scout's big mouth might send you my direction..."

"It's the Demo you got to worry about, once he's drunk enough he runs his mouth something awful. Course, when he's drunk enough, he thinks he got lucky with a girl named 'Sharon'..."

Spy snorts. "Wonderful. Then my work is done. But you... you really do not want any masks?"

"Not even this one." He touches the balaclava lightly. "If you don't mind..."

"I never take it off for anyone..."

"Reckon I understand... Still. No harm in asking." Sniper smiles sadly. "Not like I can't see enough of you, just... always wondered, maybe."

"I could take it off." Spy tugs the balaclava free. The look in the Sniper's eyes is worth the naked feeling. The way he's kissed would be reward enough for any vulnerability.

Before he can go down on his knees, the Sniper is spreading a blanket out on the floor of the nest. "Lie down?"

Spy does. He lets the other man undress him completely, revels in the feel of a mouth moving across his skin, in the feeling of being attended to instead of used. He loves the kisses, loves the hands roving over his body, firm and deliberate caresses that follow him perfectly instead of aiming at some projected image.

"Fuck me," He moans. "Please, please, tell me you have something... I want you. I didn't give this to the others..."

"Don't care what you gave the others. They didn't get this." Sniper whispers, his hand on Spy's cheek. "This is mine. This is what I wanted..."

"Oui... This is fine, but please... tell me you also want my ass."

"Well... I look at it from time to time." Sniper chuckles, squeezes him lightly. "Didn't really plan all this out, though."

"You left me a note." Spy groans, his head falling back against the floor with a thud.

"Also thought I'd strike out," Sniper reminds him. "If you'd looked for me in my van, I... Wait..."

He fumbles through the small cache of things he's squirreled away in the nest, coming up with a bottle of mineral oil.

"Mostly use it cleaning weapons, but..."

"As long as it works,"

He pours a little out into one cupped palm and dips a finger in. "You tell me..."

He starts with light touches that skirt the hole entirely, slowly working his way inward.

"You like this?" He pushes in, crooks his finger.


"Oh, you are a beauty..." Sniper bends his head down, drops a line of kisses along the Spy's thigh, down further, pressing one to his stomach. "Thought about this about a million times... what it'd be like if you could want me too..."

"I do, I want you, I want more..."

"Good." He has one of Spy's legs thrown up over his shoulder now, and he turns his head to kiss the back of the other man's knee. "I'm gonna give it to you."

He keeps whispering, keeps kissing, as he prepares them both, but once he's inside, he loses the words, can only gasp and groan and thrust.

After, he holds the Spy close, kisses up his neck, kisses his cheek and his lips.

"Love you," He mutters, pulling him in even tighter for just a second, before letting him go entirely.

"I..." Spy sits.

"'S all right, if you don't say it back. Didn't expect you to mean it."

"It would be easy to say, if I didn't." He reaches back, stroking the Sniper's face. "It is only because I am unsure. I have said many things I did not mean in my time. No one has ever made me doubt the inherent emptiness of pillow talk before."

"I don't say things I don't mean."

"I know... But I... I do not say the things I do mean. D'accord?"

"That's fine." Sniper smiles, lazy. Just like that, it is.


Monday evening, Scout does not even pretend, merely bounces into the common lounge, where Spy and Sniper are sharing the battered loveseat, each reading his own book.

Scout skids to a stop in front of Spy and rubs the back of his neck. The others are around, but he knows they've all been down the hall for whatever their own reasons were.

"So." He says. "It's been a week. Could I, um, bother ya again?"

Sniper tenses.

"I'm sorry." Spy pastes a bland smile on. "The prototypes are gone. Aside from the mask I left with the Engineer for... improving. I send the others back, with the product review. Didn't you know? That's how it works."

"Sharon's gone?" Demo asks blearily, lifting his head. "Oh, I liked her..."

"My apologies, gentlemen." Bland smile still in place, he turns back to his book.

"Liar." Sniper whispers, smiling.

"Would you change me?" Spy smirks.



(As a PS, Bria Valente's 'Here Eye Come' is really good music for writing porn to... I've had it on my computer for ages and never listened to it 'til it came up mid love-scene)

62 .

Anne, I would like to personally thank you for taking my request and making it awesome. This was just lovely.

63 .

This makes me very happy.

64 .

Ahh I should be doing a work term report, woman, and here I am, giggling like a loon to myself in the silent section of the library.

I pretty much loved the whole thing - drunken Soldier, matchmaking Heavy and Medic, Engineer being an engineer and needing to mess with things... ahhh.

"Fine. I shall remove your pesky virginity for you, and in exchange, you will not bother me again for a solid week-- I do not mean just for sex, I mean you will not be annoying, in my presence, for seven entire days. Do you think you can do this?"
This is pretty much where I started losing it entirely. Oh, Spy. You ask a lot of little Scout.

Just a few minor nitpicks:

I spotted a rogue sentence fragment:

The Engineer and the Pyro both inscrutable behind dark lenses.
Not sure if that was intentional or a typo, just thought I'd point it out.

Sometimes when you have a bit of speech followed by a dialogue tag, I've noticed you tend to use periods as opposed to commas - like so:

"You didn't come to me when I first said I was amenable." Spy challenges.
I believe that should be a comma in place of a full stop at the end of the dialogue. I'm no grammar expert or anything; it's just something I've noticed and thought I should comment.

Again... this was totally awesome.

65 .


I loved the entirety of this fill, but by far my favorite part was the reference to Jane and Tavish.

66 .

This is one of my favourite TF fanfiction EVER. I love everything about it. I love the character interactions, I love the writing, I love the dialogues, and the sex was SO hot! :D

I'm especially fond of the Jane and Tavish part, not just because I love their friendship, but also because I love it when Spy is portrayed as a genuine teammate. So many fics have him either being cold with his teammates, not getting along with them, or even outright despising them. A fic where Spy cares for a depressed teammate is really heartwarming.

Plus, I like Soldier/Spy almost as much as I love Sniper/Spy, so any scene were they cooperate makes me happy :P

I only have one small nitpick. You wrote "furthermore, the new masks include copies of his own team, as well as the REDs," which implies that a standard disguise kit doesn't allow Spy to disguise himself as his own teammates.

But... a standard disguise kid DOES allow Spy to disguise himself as his own teammates. If you press a certain key (can't remember which one now) when the disguise kit is out, the color of the disguises will switch to that of your own team.

It's useful if you use the Dead Ringer. Experienced players know that when they kill a spy s/he could still be alive and cloaked, so they are suspicious and difficult to surprise. But if you are disguised as one of your teammates when you are fake-killed, the Dead Ringer will produce a fake body of your teammate, and the enemy players won't know that they have killed a spy, they won't be suspicious, and you can backstab them to your heart's content! It's somewhat difficult to pull off but oh-so-very satisfying.

Anyway, I've been commenting a lot on this forum as Anonymous, but since I've pretty much became a regular here, from now onwards I'm going to go by Millia.

67 .


68 .


The sentence fragment was a stylistic thing that wound up falling a little short... Sometimes for the sake of flow and poetry in prose I tend to abuse sentence fragments... sometimes it winds up not working.

And thanks! (Could not resist Engie not being able to resist tinkering. I have known my fair share of mad science types (actually, I have a brother who is really, really into the design of robotic prosthetic limbs... He already has goggles, too. I am going to have to drag him into a group cosplay now if it kills me...))


Ah, I see once again I had the dumb during the entire word choice-through-revision process... I swear I knew that, too, that's what rankles. Like, if I had just been unaware of that ability, I'd be all like 'oops, I'm uninformed', but I feel worse having to say 'oops, I'm clumsy'... (although, I can't remember which button either... which is a shame now that I have the Dead Ringer...)

Anyway, glad you liked the fic! I often write loner!Spy, but I have a soft spot for team player!Spy, too, so I was really happy to write him actually being a part of the team instead of just some guy who shows up to do his job and then insults everyone and leaves...

And thanks everyone else, always happy when folks enjoy what I wrote!

69 .


Kind of what to see what happened between Heavy and Medic.

70 .


For the education of all spies, it is the "-" key by default. Dash, hyphen, minus; call it what you will.

71 .

>>69 yes pls

72 .



73 .

Have some Heavy/Medic interlude, then. (what is wrong with me, I cannot resist suggestion...)

~~~Genuine Article (Proxy side-story)~~~

There is a soft knock, almost hesitant. Medic sets down his book with some measure of reluctance to go to the door, but seeing Heavy there is enough reward for abandoning Hesse, whatever the reason.

"Did you need something?" He steps to the side, holding the door. "I'm free."

"Was... was talking to Spy early tonight..."

His face falls, his shoulders rise and he sinks back into the nearest corner. "He told you... he told you... Gott in Himmel,I am sorry, but--"

"Sorry? Is true, then?" Heavy smiles, slowly. "Did not know if maybe was Spy's idea of joke, but... He only tells me because I go to ask for same thing. Thinking cannot have real Doktor."

Medic straightens, swallows. "You thought you could not have me?"

"I can come in?"

"Please." He laughs.

Once Heavy is inside, he locks the door and clears the stack of files from off his bed. They sit there, for a moment awkward, side by side and with no idea what to do with each other.

Heavy makes the first move, his hand brushing the doctor's face, coaxing him into a kiss. He does not keep the lead long, Medic kissing him back ferociously and climbing into his lap, pushing him onto his back and driving their mouths and their bodies together.

"Always want this..." Heavy admits, in between kisses, as his fingers work at the buttons of Medic's waistcoat. "Always think, will never be mine..."

"Pity... we could have done this from the start..." He pushes the Heavy's shirt up, his hands spreading out over the broad torso. "You are a fantastic specimen..."

"Doktor says such sweet things." Heavy teases. "You, also. Very handsome. Sexy."

Medic snorts, ducking his head down, blush colouring his cheeks. "Well, I don't want to argue with you about it..."

"Is true." Heavy kisses him again, his tongue making a slow exploration of the other man's mouth, drawing forth little moans, both with the kiss and with his hands creeping up under the Medic's clothes.

They finish undressing in a hurry, exchanging fond smiles that sometimes border on laughter, not out of amusement but out of a pure and simple happiness. Arousal wins out, each time, killing the chuckle in their throats and replacing the sound with high panting sighs and low animal groans.

"What did you ask him for?" Heavy whispers, pulling Medic close. "I will give it..."

"It never would have been enough, no matter how good the disguise. It never could have been enough, not from anyone but you... Oh, I want you to have me... have me any way that you want me,"

"On knees," Heavy smiles, one fingertip tracing along Medic's jaw. "Doktor has... very nice mouth. Always think so. Think about those lips, doing things... Then we switch?"

Medic nods, grabbing his pillow and tossing it to the floor to kneel on.

"A very fantastic specimen," He breathes, bringing his lips to the very head of the heavy cock before him. He measures every dimension with his hands and lips and tongue, catalogs every feel and every taste. His Heavy shows remarkable restraint, and he is excited to test the bounds, to find the threshold of reason and push past it.

Finally, finally, words are hissed and growled in laboured Russian, hips buck slightly and a giant hand keeps his head in place so that he has no choice but to take everything. He deems the experiment a success and swallows.

Heavy lifts him onto the bed, to lie on his back with his ass hanging over the edge, his legs thrown over broad shoulders.

"This is fine?" Heavy teases, grinning up at him, lust still in his eyes.

"Ja, ja, bitte..." He digs a heel in to pull the big man closer.

Heavy's shoulders shake once in a silent laugh, as he lowers his head. "Like to see you want me..." He murmurs, the breath and the brush of his lips along the underside of Medic's shaft maddening.

"I want you, I want you..."


Heavy swallows him to the root at once, goes hard and fast right away, his hands roaming all over the Medic's body, and he pulls off at the end and uses one hand to bring the doctor off, so that he can watch his face as he comes.

When the bed proves insufficient, they pull the blankets and the extra pillow down to the floor and lie in a tangle together for a while.

"Staying like this all night... okay for back in morning?" Heavy grunts.

"No, not really." Medic sighs.

"Next time, my bed. Much bigger. Even room for Doktor to stay, if... if wanting to stay." He pulls himself to his feet and offers the other man a hand. "Tonight, should get dressed and go back there."

"Yes. Or... we could both get dressed, and... I could go with you." Medic offers. "If you were wanting us to stay together."

"Is good idea." Heavy kisses him again, before grabbing for his pants. "At least until Doktor can get bigger bed too."

74 .


(what is wrong with me, I cannot resist suggestion...)

75 .

I love the way you portray every character. Seriously. Your Spy, Sniper, Medic, Heavy, ALL OF THEM.

Keep up the good work. I love your stuff.

76 .

Yeah, between the Pyro/Engie fic (there is not enough of this pairing, ever) and the Heavy/Medic one I'm pretty sure I'm just going to die of the cute. Seriously though, I absolutely love your fics.

77 .

>>73 yesssss I was 71 thank you for doing that it was beautiful and adorable!

78 .

Number 69 here. Thank you so much, it was great.

79 .

(Captcha just said 'author' at me. Yes, Captcha, in this instance I suppose I am.)

Annnyway... Over yonder in requests, this happened:

Hopefully you all won't groan or roll your eyes

But I'm really craving some good ol' vampire fics.
AU or not, doesn't matter
Any pairing(s), doesn't matter, though I have a strong aversion to Sniper/Spy. (if you have the deep burning urge to write a Sniper/Spy vampire fic, I won't stop you, since the vampire part is the important part, but I would like any other pairing if possible...)

Soulmates, friends helping each other out, one-time feeding fucks, doesn't matter. I just want something sensual and... intimate? Arousal-inducing bites, maybe seduction, stuff like that.
I'm down for fail!vampires too, which might be more appropriate for some of these tf2 men. As long as it leads to some kind of sex, of course.

If I sound really desperate, it's because I am.
I'd like to see Heavy/Medic vampire fic. Bonus points if Heavy's the vampire. Tons of blood sucking would be required.

And I said I would, because A) as we've established, I am ludicrously suggestible, and B) I kind of dreamed up a full-on vampire AU (that I have since prepared to insert into a friend's game of Vampire: The Masquerade, when my D&D campaign finishes up). So anyway, yeah.

This is the first time I've written a TF2 fic where respawn wasn't a thing... There is a tense shift, but it marks the mortal-to-vampire change.

~~~Die Unstillbare Gier 1/2~~~

Medic raced across the battlefield, responding to the screams of his teammates, praying the bullets would all miss. They would lose men, it was inevitable in any war, but it was his duty to see that they lost as few as possible.

He made it to the Demoman, got him back on his feet and overhealed, stood back as far as he could without breaking the tenuous connection of the medigun's beam so that the man could blow himself into the air.

That left him alone, though not on the front lines. Still, there was always a sense of dread, when he was completely on his own in the field. He armed himself for combat before racing back to where his team fought. He would feel better once he was among them, once he was doing his job again.

"Medic! DOKTOR!"

He took off at a run. Heavy's call sounded pained, not the usual cry for the Medic to take cover, it was the sound of a man gravely wounded. He found him, fallen back from the fight, one hand pressed tightly to his side, and he turned the medigun on him immediately.

"Doktor?!" This call, confused rather than injured, came from the direction of the battle.

Medic half-turned, in his own confusion, only to realize his mistake a moment too late.

"Merci, Doctor." The voice of the BLU Spy chuckled in his ear. He spun back around, grabbing for the needlegun, the Spy's knife slicing across his arm instead of sinking into his back. He wheeled around wildly, firing blind as the man disappeared, reappeared with another swing of the knife.

"DOKTOR!" Heavy appeared over the rise, and the Spy vanished, this time only to appear when the roar of the minigun cut him down in his retreat.

The last slash had opened his stomach, Medic could smell his own blood thick in the air even as his other senses dimmed. Had he been near enough at hand when one of his teammates suffered the same, he might have been able to save them... there was no one who could save him. When even the pain started to ebb away, he knew he was facing his end. The only thing left was a sudden beautiful warmth and the taste of blood.

And then, his eyes were opening, his strength returning. He was sheltered behind a rough wooden wall, in the arms of the Heavy.

"I am sorry... I had to." Heavy says.

"Had to..." He does not understand, not at all. "Did you-- The medigun?"

"No. Cannot. Could only... You are vampire now. Like me."

Medic laughs, but he does not feel amused. He feels frightened. It is impossible, but it seems no more likely that the other man has made a joke.

"I've seen you eat." He points out. "Food."

"Da. Can eat food. Why not? Is still good, even if I am dead."

"You are out right now in broad daylight!"

"Doktor." Heavy laughs now. "Is not movie. You are thinking of made-up things."

"Well... Well, what things aren't made up?" He demands.

"Stronger than before. Need blood sometimes... from dead enemies if I can do this in secret. Otherwise, steal little bit from infirmary."

"I thought we were just going through it fast... Well. It's a war. We will always go through it fast. Still-- All this-- Isn't it a little unbelievable?"

"Into battle, Doktor. You will be very hard man to kill now. Tonight, will explain everything."

He examines himself. His clothes are torn and bloody, but his wounds have healed. His heart no longer beats, but he is living-- or something like it. Still, how could he have never noticed that one of his teammates-- one of his patients!-- had been dead for as long as they had known each other?

Well, answers had been promised. For now, he had the rest of his team to worry about. They could not afford to lose too many more men, not without knowing when RED would send more. He rushes heedless into the fray this time, trusting his new immortality to keep him on his feet and able to work as he did his part to see to the others.

80 .

Okay, that was really...fast. I needed to reread that once or twice.
I expect a full explanation in the next update pretty please you amazing person.
This has so much potential that I’d love to stalk *cough* read

81 .


Stoked stoked stoked stoked stoked

82 .

Thanks! (I was worried over char. limits, but instead of cutting it in half, I needed to cut it at a scene break, so yeah, the first part wound up quite short and with far more questions than answers, but here's the rest!)

~~~Die Unstillbare Gier 2/2~~~

That night, they meet out on the battlements. The dead have been cleared from the fields. Few casualties that day, already gathered by their respective sides and laid out carefully. Burial had to wait for the weekend.

"Most stories just that-- stories." Heavy tells him, as they walk. "Die if head is cut off, though, I think. At least... even if not so, what can you do with no head? Cannot move around. Would be stuck. But, probably, this kills you. So, be careful of enemy Demoman with sword, be careful of enemy Medic with saws."

"I am used to being careful of all my enemies." Medic reminds him gently.

"Good. But bullets will not hurt. Scouts with bats not hurt. Fire hurts. Could still kill you, if you can not put out."

"Wooden stakes?"

"Depends on kind of wood." Heavy shrugs. They reach their dead. "But no one on battlefield going to stake Doktor through heart or use silver bullet."

"... Silver bullets are for werewolves."

Heavy laughs, suddenly and so loudly that Medic worries their teammates will come out to see what the cause for mirth is. "Doktor, no such thing as werewolves. Show you how to feed-- is okay that these are teammates? Cannot reach BLU cowards after battle ends."

"I suppose it doesn't matter to me." He steels himself. "Blood is blood."

It is not as though he is unfamiliar with the sight, the smell, even the taste of it. He's just never... subsisted on it before.

Heavy grabs the arm of their fallen Scout. He whispers something-- the tone is apologetic, even if the words are foreign-- and then Medic can only watch as he bites into the inside of the boy's elbow and laps at the spot. The boy has been dead some time, most of his blood has settled or congealed, but it seems the Heavy is able to draw enough. He beckons the Medic over, places the arm in his hands.

"Drink," His hand strokes Medic's hair.

Not much comes easy, but the Medic is surprised at how much he enjoys what does come. And while there is not much, he does not need much.

"You only need little bit, now and then. Can still live like normal, in front of others. No one has to know."

"But... how did I not see? I've listened to your heart beat!"

"Is tricky." Heavy smiles. "Can teach you, if you want to know. Just need to focus."

"When did you become-- like this? And why me?"

"Became like this... long time ago. Old man I know once in gulag, see him drink from other prisoners, little bit. Remember this. We meet again later. He makes me like this. Stronger. I am okay with change. He tells me some are not. Did not know if Doktor would be, but... would die otherwise. And... could not lose you."

"Oh." He feels warm, and he cannot tell if it is a side-effect of the blood drinking, or if it is from the big hand that still rests high on his back, that reaches up to pet at his head again.

"Come back inside. More to tell... but not out here."

Medic nods, follows him back in to his room on the base.

"You want to know how it happens, yes? I know you, Doktor..." He chuckles softly. "Like to know how things work. Especially these things. Things with blood, is your job to know, so... Let me show you,"

Medic can only nod again, as Heavy undoes his tie and collar, strokes his throat. He can feel teeth against his skin, but pain doesn't come. He just feels Heavy's tongue laving over him, slick and wet, too much so. There is a kiss to the spot, and then Heavy presses his thumb there and draws back, mouth red.

"You can still drink my blood? Aren't-- aren't I like you now, though?" Medic feels light-headed. He feels warm again, too.

"And you mine." Heavy strips one glove off. There is an old faint scar on his wrist, and he cuts into the skin with his teeth, just alongside the scar. He offers his wrist, blood welling up on the cut.

Medic leans forward, one hand holding his tie in place. He feels silly, too dainty, and once the Heavy's blood touches his lips, he abandons restraint. It seems ten times sweeter, and he wonders if it is not just from being fresh-- if one could call a vampire's blood fresh. The heady feeling that feeding had brought with it before is stronger, and he moans.

"This part is easier with Doktor awake." Heavy says, leaning in close. "More fun, also. Shh, enough,"

Medic pulls back. "I'm sorry--"

"Nyet, not to be sorry for. But... you feel what this is like. Felt when I drank from you,"

"Was... was it like that... when you became a vampire?" A small wave of revulsion washes over the Medic, thinking of some old man doing to his Heavy what he had been doing, feeling the same things and having the same thoughts.

"Only little bit. Like it always feels good to drink. But not... not same exactly. Is better with you... because you are Doktor. Because... have always loved Doktor. But if you keep doing this to me, might lose control a little bit."

Medic takes Heavy's hand and lifts it to his lips, his tongue tracing over the already-healing cut on the wrist. "Good. I want you to..."

Heavy groans, grabbing Medic into a hard kiss and tearing at his clothes. Once he has the doctor naked on his bed, he undresses as well, looming over the smaller man, cock in one hand.

"Maybe you can do something else with your mouth," He suggests.

Medic moans and reaches for him. His head still buzzes lightly, there is a heat in the pit of his stomach that is half blood and half arousal. For a moment it is strange, not to feel his pulse race at it all, but after only a little concentration, he can feel it kick in, after a little concentration he can feel whatever remains of his own blood rapidly rushing to fuel his own erection.

His mouth stretches wide to accommodate the Heavy's girth. At first he tries too hard to remember to breathe through his nose before discovering breath is a thing he no longer requires. His pulse quits him when his attention wavers, the erection flags somewhat but remains. The whole thing is fascinating, from a scientist's standpoint, but he cannot give science much attention, not while his focus is centered on the Heavy.

There is no ejaculate to mark the end, just a hoarse cry and a hand gripping his shoulder, and the cock in his mouth softening. He is not quite through tracing the logic of it all when the Heavy's mouth surrounds him in turn and he gets to experience his own first post-mortem orgasm.

In many ways, not so different. He can still feel it build the same way, he still enjoys the same sensations. The major difference seems to be in the conscious effort required to sustain the flow of his blood. When the pleasure becomes too great and his attention becomes too fragmented, the sensations are all the same. The feeling afterward is the same, sleepy and contented and somewhat daft and fuzzy.

The Heavy gathers him up into an embrace.

"This will be good." He whispers the promise. "On battlefield, we will be unstoppable. BLUs will have nothing to fight us. Now when you must fight, you are stronger. You can pick up baby men and throw like doll. Will not have to worry when we are not together, know you will be safe. Now you know my secret, also, do not have to waste healing on me. I am strong. I can take damage. Heal in sleep. Protect others. You will get better. Be able to feed on battlefield sometimes. Just have to make sure no one sees. Is better to drink from enemy, not from friend. From enemy or from lover."

"Yes," Medic sighs. He's surprised by just how much he loves the idea, how he looks forward to having an attacker come upon him when he is separated from the team, seizing the man by the throat and draining him of his life. He longs to.

And then... the curious new foreplay, he longs to return to that as well, to tasting the Heavy, then making love to him.

As confusing and as frightening as he thought the whole thing was at first, he is beginning to think he was born for this.

He has never been shy around blood, after all...

83 .

The last story is a bit confusing. I assume Respawn does not exist, but Heavy and Medic don't really react to Scout being dead. It could have helped if you had described the mercenaries being desensitized to the high turnover rate. Also to go into more detail of Heavy and Medic surviving in such an environment before Heavy needed to turn Medic. What is fighting like with it being so dangerous and they cannot afford to be "reckless" since there is no Respawn?

Also, what about the rest of RED team? I know the story is focused on Heavy/Medic but it would seem fitting that they would require Medic's help after cease-fire. How big is the team if people die every day? When do reinforcements arrive? Where did Heavy get a Scout's body if the corpses had been cleared off the battlefield?

84 .

My god you're like some kind of magic writing machine. I thought vampire!TF2 would be horribly forced, but you not only made it work, you ROCKED that nonsense.

I like it. You did well!

85 .

Can you continue this. It’s so...beautiful

86 .

i had some concrit written up for this but then my phone ate it and i sobbed. anyway, >>83 hit many of the points i wanted to make, but i'll see if i can remember more.

it seems like, in a game with very little canon, you take a lot of things for granted. heavy is quick to admit that he loves medic, but there is no indication that they had any sort of relationship, friendly or otherwise, before heavy turned him. how long did they even know each other? because there is no respawn, had heavy worked with other medics? how did he feel about them? why does he love this particular medic? and how does medic feel? did he have sex with heavy just because he was turned on by feeding, or did he have feelings for/an attraction to him beforehand?

also, minor nitpick, but sometimes i can't tell who's talking or doing something. it becomes an issue when both characters are the same gender and thus have the same pronouns, but like, '"Maybe you can do something else with your mouth," He suggests.' i couldn't tell who said this until i read the next paragraph. i know using their names can feel clunky and repetitive, but sometimes it's necessary? ahh just my two cents.

i always end up enjoying you work, though. and your fast updates spoil me, honestly. you have a knack for writing, so keep it up and keep improving!

87 .

Probably won't do more vampires, but I won't say never-- that one just gave me a lot of trouble I wasn't expecting... I got all excited over the prompt, but it turns out it is almost impossible to turn something you dreamed into a coherent fic...

Anyway, I had said I might do another prompt, before the thread autosaged again, so here 'tis:

Working from the saying "At least give me a blindfold and a cigarette."
No true violence necessary, and consent is preferred. Experimenting, perhaps? Do as you will.


(It turns out this prompt fit rather neatly into my personal TF2verse... When I'm writing 'Shuffle' from the POV of the main Spy, I can't really go into the background on the other spies' relationship, but... well, while I was in the planning/early writing stages of 'Shuffle' is I think when I first saw the prompt, so...) (also, it wound up porn-less. I might have to write more at some point...)

~~~In Isolated Moments~~~

Both spies dive into the small room under the first capture point at the same time, but the BLU Spy is the first to get his hands on the health kit. As he straightens, injuries ceasing to bother him, the RED Spy merely lands hard on the floor.

"Well." The RED Spy looks up. His breaths come ragged, he can do little beyond trying to hold himself together.

"Well." The BLU Spy adjusts his grip on his revolver.

"At least give me a blindfold and a cigarette." He had had a cigarette, but during the mad race for the health kit, he had lost it. Not that he thinks his request will be taken at all seriously. Not that it really matters.

The BLU Spy laughs, though, and drops down to his knees in the small space. "Why not? Unless we go into overtime, the round is almost over anyway... and here we are, far from any action."

He offers one of his own cigarettes, places it between the other man's lips and lights it for him. There is a moment of heat between them as he does, and he coughs nervously and sits back.

"So." He says.

"So." The RED Spy nods, rolling onto his back.

"Tell me about yourself. As long as we are waiting out the last minutes."

"What makes you think it would be the truth?"

"Absolutely nothing. I trust it would be an amusing lie, though."

It is the RED Spy's turn to laugh. "For that, I will tell you the truth, if not much of it. I detest most of my team. I was born in Paris. I still think it is the most beautiful city in the world. When I was very young and very foolish, I wanted to write poetry."

"I have no strong feelings about my own team, which may even be worse." The BLU Spy smiles. "I grew up in Calais, but I will allow that Paris is a fine city indeed. When I was young enough and foolish enough, I studied poetry. At University."

"Who do you like? Baudelaire?"

"I prefer Rimbaud."

"I prefer Verlaine to Rimbaud." The RED Spy struggles to pull himself off the floor.

The BLU Spy reaches over to help him. "Well, my main area of interest was in the poems of Arabic and Jewish Spain during the eleventh and twelfth centuries."

"... I feel I ought to be impressed. I can't talk about poetry at all with my team, of course. Despite his looks, our Heavy is not illiterate, but he is Russian. I don't think they read anything that isn't impossibly long."

"I broached the general topic once, with my own team." The BLU Spy admits. "And the Engineer brought up something called 'cowboy poetry'. It was awful."

"Our Medic is impossible. His tastes in literature... dry."

"Our Sniper's understanding of poetry begins and ends with something called a 'Banjo Paterson'."

The RED Spy opens his mouth to speak, only to be snatched away to the resupply room and the start of a new round. He hadn't even noticed when the last round finished.


They seek each other out, after that. They discuss literature, and philosophy, they discuss food and wine. They arrange a meeting in the nearest town, and the BLU Spy brings a small and battered volume of poetry.

"If you wanted to borrow it." He slides it across the table.

The following weekend, the RED Spy solemnly moves their prearranged meeting from the restaurant to a hotel room.

"The book you gave me-- I remembered to bring it back for you. The poems are... The poems seemed to me to be about men, were they not? It could be my own error, or some difficulty with translation, but..."

"No. They are."

"I see." He swallows hard, considering. When he returns the book, though, his hands linger. And he has moved them to a room, with a bed, a thing he would not have done if some part of him didn't plan for this.

"I'd hoped... I know we ought to be enemies, but in the whole of this war, there is no one I have this much in common with. And when I mentioned Rimbaud, you mentioned Verlaine. And I'd hoped..."

The RED Spy leans forward then, kissing him. "This could all be such a mistake..."

"Yes. What would life be without mistakes, though?"

"So very dull." He agrees, his hands already slipping under the BLU Spy's blazer. And this is shaping up to be the loveliest mistake he will ever make...

88 .

Surprisingly, I cannot think of another SpyxSpy story I have read other then this one! I rather like it. In character and yet there isn't that 'grr rawr I hate you for -insert reason here- but I'm gunna fuck you anyways' that tends to get old. Good job, as always!

89 .

There is not enough Spy/Spy in this world...

90 .


Baww, as the original vampire requester, I was really really enjoying your fic, and I was hoping there'd be more.

That being said, this spy/spy fic is just fantastic. I've been waiting for more same-class pairings for a loong time.

91 .

Normally I don't like same-class pairings, but I have a big fondness for Spy/Spy (probably because they are masked, so it's much easier to think of them as different men who just so happen to wear similar clothes, whereas the other same-class pairings are way too close to twincest for my tastes).

I'm ridiculously happy that one of my favourite authors wrote a Spy/Spy fic, it was delicious :)

92 .

Ooh, a Spy/Spy! And a decent one at that! (Of course, everything by you is more than decent, Anne.) I liked this a lot.

93 .

Okay, so over in the new request thread, a couple of people brought up the fact that we rarely ever see homophobia from these guys, aside from the occasional Scoutburst. My brain kind of started writing it the moment I walked away from the computer. So now I finished doing dishes and I'm back to write-write it. While listening to mash-ups revolving around 'Llorando'...

~~~The Argument~~~

It took sixteen men to pry the brawling heavies apart, and with that, both teams found themselves ejected from the only drinking establishment within miles of their bases.

They all wind up in an empty lot, standing in the dry weeds and dust, glaring across the small divide and waiting for an explanation, the two engineers standing front and center to mediate, the two medics backing their respective heavies, and the rest scattered about in a loose cluster, men of RED to one side and the men of BLU to the other.

"Now just what is the problem here?" The BLU Engineer repeats, pulling off his hardhat to wipe at his brow.

"He starts it." The RED Heavy stabs an accusing finger towards his counterpart.

"Not true."

"You start it when you say what you said. Apologize, or this time, I will finish it."

"Never! Is true."

"Fellas, fellas," The RED Engineer mirrors his own counterpart's tired, hapless posture. "Right now, let's not worry about who started what how, we just wanna know the why."

"He is rude to Doktor." The RED Heavy glares.

"Your Doktor is a homosexual." The BLU Heavy sneers.

"So what? So am I. You want to fight about it?"

"No, we really don't." The BLU Medic tugs at his Heavy's arm. "We are in town. Come on, you know the rules. On Monday we will be back on the field killing them again."

The others are frozen, looks of surprise on the faces of the BLUs, looks of realization or resignation on the faces of the REDs.

"Those two're homosexuals? Together?" The BLU Engineer points at the RED Heavy and Medic.

"Those two aren't?" The RED Sniper laughs, pointing at the BLU Heavy and Medic.

The BLU Heavy growls, but his team holds him back.

"Well, rules or no rules." The RED Demoman staggers forward and claps his team's Heavy on the shoulder. "If it's a fight with this man you want, it's a fight you'll get, and any fight you pick with him, you pick with me."

"We don't want a fight--" The BLU Medic starts.

"Fight." The BLU Heavy snorts. "Men like that cannot fight."

"Oh? Then how come we kill you and your doktor so many times last week? Maybe you cannot fight!"

"Heavy," The RED Medic puts a hand on his lover's arm as well, gives the BLU Medic an apologetic smile. "We will have many opportunities to prove ourselves on the battlefield."

"True." The RED Spy circles around the perimeter of the group. "For now, I hope we can all try to get along. At least pretend to. The company way..."

"Right. No fighting in towns." The BLU Soldier nods. "Disgrace to the uniform... Save it for the war, privates."

The RED Engineer coughs and steps a little closer to center. "Right. Well. I mean, not that I can't-- understand, why you boys might... might take issue."

"It's fuckin' gross is what it is." The RED Scout nods, taking a step away from his own side.

"No rule saying I can't beat on you in town, boyo." The RED Demoman warns.

The RED Pyro sits down with a soft huff, crossing his arms, and remains planted next to the RED Medic. The RED Soldier takes a few steps towards the BLU team.

"I can't even believe what's going on... This is-- This is-- UNAMERICAN, that's what it is!"

Several of his teammates roll their eyes. The BLU Soldier matches him stride for stride to the center, though.

"Mister, I submit to you that there is NOTHING more American than the bonds of manly bonding that two men bound together on the battlefield... bond! Manfully!"

"Doesn't hurt nobody far as I can tell." The BLU Engineer agrees, and the BLU Pyro trails after him the few steps to center.

"No." The RED Sniper steps closer to his team's Heavy and Medic. "Reckon it doesn't."

"Chucklenuts here is right, though," The BLU Scout nods to the RED Scout. "I mean, it is fuckin' gross, kissing an old dude? And what do you even do with another guy?"

"I could tell you sometime, but you might prefer to keep your innocence, boy." The BLU Spy walks right past the divide, right past the two soldiers, to stand with the REDs.

They react with some surprise, though the breaking of barriers gives the engineers and soldiers the push they needed, to switch sides. The RED Scout crosses over to stand with the remaining BLUs, the BLU Pyro settles next to the REDs.

"What's your game?" The RED Sniper asks, training a glare on the BLU Spy.

"Game? Must all my motives me suspect? I am merely offering my support. Surely you did not think your teammates here were the only men in this war with an... appreciation, for... Greek love?"

"I wouldn't say I have an appreciation for it myself." The BLU Engineer suddenly blushes. "I just-- I didn't think it was anything to start a fight over-- I mean, an off-the-clock fight!"

"Nothing wrong with it." The RED Demoman shrugs. "If a couple of men find something in the middle of a war..."

The BLU Soldier coughs and looks at his feet, frowns in thought.

The RED Engineer shakes his head. "We're not talking about drunken handjobs in a foreign country somewhere, we're talking about a couple of men who could be with women and are choosing to-- to--"

"Well, still. It doesn't make any difference to us. Thought we were all agreed on the rules here, and if you need to work something out with your fists, you dang well wait for Monday to do it. I'm not working with a bunch of petty children, I signed on to work with professionals."

"I am a professional." The BLU Sniper says, remaining where he is. "Doesn't mean I have to like whatever goes on on the other side. And I was hired to be part of a team. My team's who I'm standing with."

"And you?" The BLU Spy sidles up to the RED Sniper. "Is the matter personal to you, or just a matter of company pride?"

"Well, I-- They're my mates." He fumbles. "You stand with your mates. Even if they're complete psychos..."

"Hm. Pity..." He smirks, eyes sliding over the other man. "Well. If I can ever change your mind, you know where to find me... and I know where to find you..."

"Well. Everyone over here agrees with me." The BLU Heavy draws himself up to his full height. "And some of them are from your team."

"Yes. But some of our team do not agree." The BLU Medic takes a step towards the center.

"... Doktor?"

"I'm sorry." He looks down. "I wanted to take your side. God knows! I am not even saying I believe it is right, just..."

"Doktor, come back over here. No more fighting in town, it will be fine."

"Look at all of this!" He spreads his arms, to encompass the whole of both groups. "How is it going to be fine? Now the issue has arisen and everybody knows which men on his own team hold what position. It will change who trusts whom. It will change how any of us work together. All because you had to say something!"

"You think this is my fault?" He steps forward, angry.

"Fault... I don't even know about fault. But if you hadn't spoken, he would not have hit you, and then none of this would have happened, and none of us would be looking at each other differently."

The men shuffle awkwardly, the standoff ending as they return to stand with their teams, some more reluctantly than others.

"I am going back to the base." The BLU Medic sighs, pushing his glasses up his nosebridge. "If you want me to heal you when we get there, then you can apologize for starting this mess. Otherwise, you can sit by yourself with a steak over your eye, I don't even care."

"Fine. Fine! I have steaks." The BLU Heavy storms off towards the bases as well, no apology made.

"We should head home as well." The RED Medic smiles up at his Heavy, reaching up to touch his cheek gently. "I will be more than happy to heal you."

"Good." The RED Heavy chuckles. "Do not think sandvich much good for black eye."

The others trickle back towards their bases as well, partings awkward between those who had sided together despite company lines, and between those who had opposed each other in spite of same.

The RED Sniper hangs back, watching his teammates go, watching their Demoman shake hands with the BLU Soldier, their interaction just slightly stiff, before they separate and go.

The BLU Spy hangs back as well, just regarding him.

"What?" The Sniper coughs.

"In spite of all that ugliness, it is shaping up to be a fine night..." The Spy shrugs. "I believe the sunsets from that hill up there are particularly breathtaking. If you would care to join me?"

The Sniper shrugs. He doesn't take the outstretched hand, but he heads for the hill along with the Spy. Nothing wrong in enjoying a nice sunset...

94 .


yissssssss thank you for filling this. even if there's no sexytimes, it's still damn good damn damn good.

95 .

I love this like a fat girl loves cake

96 .


I think part of the reason I like this so much is that there's so many stories where the classes act the same, just wear different colors. An Engineer is an Engineer is an Engineer, and a Medic is a Medic is a Medic, etc. Just a different color palette.

But in this, by virtue of the prompt and the wonderful author that you are, Anne, all of that went out of the window. There were different men here, in some cases, like RED and BLU Heavy, VERY different men. And I LOVED that! I also really, really liked the differences you coaxed out in the Engineers and Soldiers, despite keeping true to the "Engineer" and "Soldier" characteristics most people recognize.

And oh god, that moment that BLU Medic stepped away...gave me goosebumps. I was cheering.

97 .

I know the story is long since over, but I have one little bit of grief.
In the Edge of Doom, the Medic's suggest a really stupid way of dealing with the virus; " We will be able to inoculate, then none of us will be sick. Then we can try to cure others, if we can find them."
Inoculation is one of the most infective ways of curing a virus using homoeopathic tenancies. It is literally infecting yourself and hoping you become immune by surviving. If you were going along that route for a cure, a better idea is Vaccination. They get the virus, extract it from the blood stream (or wherever it liked to live) and leave it to die on an agar plate. Once it's dead, stick it in the body, and you're immune. It even works with simply weakened viruses. If they can't wait, leave the virus out for a week or two and then put it in the body. Essentially, immunity works through the body being able to develop new antibodies to attach to the antigens on a virus, paralysing it so that white blood cells can 'devour' the viruses. (Devour is the wrong word, it's more like absorb and break down). Vaccination works with Viruses, Bacteria and Fungi. Even if you're infected and progressing along with symptoms, vaccination will most likely cure as it gives your immune system a one up to help fight the living viruses in the body. (Where did Pyro get the viruses? If he got them off of a body, the life time post mortem for the virus could have been quite far along. Jus' saying.) Any doctor / medical historian would know this; the knowledge has been around since Jenner fought Small pox (On that note, the Medic's could have also tried to make a vaccine with a similar illness, but I admit that is a unlikely probability).
The plot was excellent. The balance of sex and continuation was amazing, and I liked how everyone had a very unique personality, and how this was showed while still maintaining a focus on the Heavy / medic relationships. I especially like the fact that you have friendships sans le sex. it's pretty refreshing for Soldier to show emotion and not then start demanding / giving head! Woohoo for awesome writing shtuff! Reading your fan fics gives me a lot of insight into writing as a genre, lots of stuff that turns out to be successful. You're subtle and humerous and handle a lot of situations very well!

98 .

The touches of RED Demo and BLU Soldier in that last piece were brilliant, I got the happies every time they were mentioned!

99 .

Holy lawd. As one of the original requesters of >93, that was about fifty times more wunderbar than what I was expecting.

If I have one gripe (not to say I'm at all ungrateful, because I love it!), it's that at times it reads a little more like.. a list of opinions than a story? Like you sort of figured out ahead of time who was on which side and had some trouble executing it? But other than that, amazing, I basically agree with >96 in full, for the love of god never stop.

100 .

Couldn't sleep, so... more Spy/Spy times (since it never really got smutty last time...)

~~~Alone In Our Secret~~~

On the field, they avoid each other, keeping to the same targets and strategies that lead to some success against other enemies. After hours, they meet, traveling invisible to the better hiding spots, far from easy view of either base.

Conversation flows between French and English and Italian, odd words or phrases of Spanish or German slipping in, all based on which language best serves the sentiment. French is heavily favoured, by virtue of being the native tongue of both men. English comes a close second out of recent habit. The RED Spy finds himself lapsing more and more into Italian, however, when his counterpart sighs and demands it.

"You speak it better than I do." He says, by way of explanation, eyes shining in the low light that filters down to the narrow space beneath one of the buildings.

"Non posso vivere senza di te. Voglio fare l'amore con te."

"Here?" The BLU Spy shifts slightly-- there is little room, but there is also no way to be seen.

"... Probably not. On the weekend, it will be easier to get away. Someplace where we are not lying in the dirt just to be able to speak to each other."

"I don't know. We're already lying in the dirt... it cannot really make things worse." He smiles.

The RED Spy kisses him, one hand moving between their bodies to undo the fly of the BLU Spy's trousers. "A little something, then. It will make the trouble we go through worthwhile, no?"


"Senza di te la mia vita non ha senso..."

"More." He grabs hold of the RED Spy's hips and pulls their bodies closer. "You know what it does to me..."

"Sei il mio universo. Sei la mia anima gemella."

The BLU Spy freezes. "... Vraiment? You mean that?"

"I know no one else like you."

"Surely there are other spies."

"That does not make them like you. You are the very half of my own soul. I mean it. Don't you?"

The BLU Spy nods. "Come and kiss me. Of course. Of course. It is a little overwhelming, though, to have you so devoted to me..."

The RED Spy kisses him again. "Be overwhelmed. I am glad to be the one overwhelming you."

The handjobs offered in the little below-building crawlspace are awkward, but the kisses are sweet and passionate, more than enough to cover for any inelegance.

"I should speak Italian more often, if that is what it gets me..." The RED Spy laughs softly, in the soft haze of the afterglow.

"It isn't just the Italian. But I won't complain. Cigarette?"

"... You carry my brand. You don't smoke them."

"No." The BLU Spy shrugs, face heating. "They are not my preference, but that is why, you know? You buy one pack when they are all you can get, and... then, you don't really, you don't go through them as fast. So, I still have them, because, well, I found mine again..."

"You're very sweet." The RED Spy kisses his lover's cheek and accepts the proffered cigarette. "We should part... too much time together and someone may grow suspicious."

"Don't let anyone see you, then." Another kiss, cigarettes held out of the way long enough for tongues to make a slow duel.

"And you." He smirks. They will both cloak, before emerging. It is always the way, and yet they always part with words of warning. A little show of care, at least. They are just as careful in making their usual date in the nearest town.

Neither man knows if they will ever have the chance to let that caution go, though both long for it. Still, longing and having are different things, and for now, they are always careful.

101 .

I can't tell you how pleased I am that, for once, my native language is not getting butchered I AM A FAGGOT HUMP MY RUMP

Since Italian is traditionally considered a romantic tongue many writers have their characters speak it, but it's obvious that they use google translator or something like that, and the resulting mess is painfully hilarious.

But your Italian is perfect. Either you can actually speak it, or you got unusually lucky with a translator. Whichever the reason, I'm glad :)

As for the fic itself, it's very well-written as usual, and I'm fond of the Spy/Spy pairing, so I definitely liked it.

102 .

One day I'll learn all the filters in this forum. One day...

Kinda ironic to see "faggot" used as an insult in a site about gay porn, though.

103 .

This post has been deleted.

104 .


Considering that for the longest time folks around here would call themselves drawfags, writefags, etc. etc, faggot is not used as an offensive term here since, as you pointed out, this site revolves around gay porn.

Avoid the use ecks-dee and other anime type emotes and phrases and you should not have a problem with word filters.

105 .


Oh, man, I wish I could actually speak Italian-- I have a couple relatives who do, my aunt's been a couple-few times, and my cousin spent some time there while she was studying architecture. (I can sometimes make a little out if I'm reading it, but I'd never attempt to make any sense on my own)

Instead of going to an online translator, I just looked up full phrases and didn't try to conjugate anything on my own. I'm glad I wasn't steered wrong!

106 .

Well, can't sleep, so y'all know what that means. Taking a look over the request thread to see what speaks to me most (or, um, what I already rehearsed in my mind when I couldn't get to a computer/notebook...)

This might sound weird, but...haircuts. I have a really big kink for haircuts, shaving or anything similar, and I would really love it if someone wrote something involving any (or all!) of the above.

(And for once I write some Sniper/Spy that's NOT cross-faction... haven't done that since I was on LJ...)

~~~Shave and a Haircut~~~

When the Sniper trudges into the locker room, grumbling to himself and trying to wring half a pot of spilled coffee out of his shirt, he doesn't expect to run into anyone else. Then again, the Spy is never there when the rest of the team showers after a battle...

He looks away quickly, and knocks on the tiled wall of the showers. "Didn't mean to interrupt. If you, um... if you have a problem with me being here... I mean-- your face--"

"Not at all." The Spy looks up, brushing wet hair back from his forehead. "We are on the same team, after all..."

"Oh." He looks up, and only half meant to. "Just figured it was... a mask thing, why you never--"

"Ah, that is right." The Spy smiles-- there is an edge to it, a teasing quality, but it is not entirely unfriendly. "You arrived late. You don't know. No, it is not out of a need for privacy that I shower alone. The Americans were rather insistent upon it. Because of my... proclivities."


"I am an open homophile." He shrugs, as easily and naturally as if this were some ordinary conversation, as though he were not wet and naked.

"... You mean you're a pooftah?"

"If you like. I make no secret of it, but apparently this is an... issue, for some of the team. It was suggested rather strongly that I shower alone. Since then I have not really been... vocal. Well, it is not as though I have so much of a love life to speak of."

"Yeah. Well. Guess it doesn't bother me." The Sniper shrugs, not so easily, and strips to the waist, tossing his shirt into the dirty laundry, most of it stained with blood and sweat from the day's fighting. He reaches for the clean shirt he has hanging in his locker-- he'd had one in his locker in resupply earlier, of course, but he'd changed into that after the day's battle. With no clean laundry left in his van, it left the lockers by the team shower.

"I shouldn't think it would-- you're not the one with your pants off."

He laughs at that, but only until he realizes it won't be true long. He could throw his shirt on, but it's his last one, and the spilled coffee's already leaving his skin uncomfortable and tacky.

At least it had been halfway to cold, before the damn Scout had to go upsetting the pot onto him... Small mercies.

"The whole team knows about you?" He undresses the rest of the way.

"Yes." The Spy turns his back to the spray and rolls his shoulders. "It happened before you arrived. I hadn't really thought about that. I suppose I imagined someone would say something."

"Nothing-- I mean, nothing that couldn't just be... Well, you know what the Scout talks like, he calls everyone everything when he gets to running his mouth. Didn't think it meant it was true."

"It is. I am surprised you are not bothered."

"It's not like you're going to jump me."

This time there is no joke hiding in his smile, but there is surprise. "None of the others seem to realize this. Even after I assured them all that none of them were to my tastes."

"Anyway," The Sniper weighs his words carefully a moment, then plows forward anyway. "I'd still take my chances, I'd already sweetened that pot of coffee. Rather have you make a pass at me than get eaten alive by ants. You're not bad-looking."

He's in and out of the shower quickly, anyway. Despite the Spy's head start, they're drying off at the same time.

The Sniper takes a long hard look at himself in the mirror. No, the Spy is not bad-looking. The Spy is the opposite of bad-looking, but he...

"Ah, shoulda looked for a barber over the weekend. I'm about a month late for a haircut..." He rubs at his chin and wonders to himself when he started to look so tired. He can't blame it all on letting his hair get shaggy.

"Do you want me to do it?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm better off waiting."

"I've been trained-- not that cutting a man's hair takes so much training. You would be surprised at the education I have had, mon ami. There are seven professions I could adopt at the drop of a hat-- and I mean those which do not involve espionage or murder."

"Yeah, fine. I can get it fixed on the weekend anyway. Not like I don't have a hat." He shrugs and sits on one of the low benches on the locker side of the room, facing the long mirror.

The Spy pulls the second bench behind that one. He drapes a towel around the Sniper's shoulders and rests one knee on his bench.

"Tell me, do you actually shave or do you merely hack at your face periodically and hope for the best? Ah! Never you mind. First, a shave. Then, we deal with the hair situation."

The Sniper feels he ought to protest, or at least make some kind of joke at the Spy's expense, except in his secret heart of hearts he knows a little too much about being queer to boil it all down into fussiness over personal appearance.

"Now is the best time for it, anyway." The Spy continues, returning from his locker, placing his knee once more upon the rear bench.

The Sniper lets himself be re-positioned, and he is acutely aware of the fact that neither one of them is wearing more than a towel or two when he finds himself leaning back against the Spy's chest.

The lather is nice... he can't deny the lather's nice. He's used to working up soap suds with his hands and a bar of whatever's cheap and handy, the Spy has a cake of shaving soap and a beaver brush.

And a straight razor.

He ought to be more concerned about having that at his throat, but the feel of it scraping his skin is almost hypnotic... it's metal, sharp, a blade, but there's no fear... adrenaline, maybe... arousal, at least, though he doesn't chalk that up to the razor. It's more soothing, having it pass over his skin in broad and careful sweeps, and then there's a soft towel and a whispered 'there'...

The Spy sits him back up after that. He feels the teeth of a comb drag over his scalp, hears scissors once in a while. For a while there's a back-and-forth. Comb, snip, comb, snip. Then he sees the scissors land on the bench next to him, and the comb, and it's the Spy's fingertips massaging his scalp and brushing through his hair.

He moans, and the Spy freezes. For a long moment, no one moves and no one speaks.

"Do you have a pomade?" The Spy asks eventually, tone even.

Careful. If the Sniper didn't know any better, he'd say it was the kind of care that implied an underlying danger. It takes him a moment to realize that he doesn't know better, not really.

"Yeah. In my locker, I'll--"

"No, sit. All part of the service." He can hear the smirk in the Spy's voice at that, but it's a newly-recovered smirk.

It's nice, thinking he might not be the only one who's shaken.

Nicer still, when the Spy's touch returns, and the stroking along his scalp lingers longer than it ever takes a man to apply a little pomade.

The Spy takes the towel from around the Sniper's neck, shaking out the little hairs and wiping the excess fixative from his palms.

The Sniper stands, coming face to face with his own reflection.

"You look a year younger, at least." The Spy says.

"Ah, go on." He shakes his head, but... he looks less tired, at least. The close shave, and the slight flush replacing the weary pallor he's had since that afternoon. Nothing you could pinpoint, not the way years of sun had weathered his face. You'd never call it out as blushing, but it looked healthier, he had to admit that.

He'd been admitting a lot that evening, since finding the Spy...

"Really." The Spy's eyes meet his in the mirror. The man's smile is soft now, utterly un-spy-like, and the Sniper wonders if maybe it isn't time to share a little of what he'd been admitting to himself.

"Well, thanks. Your doing, I'd imagine." He leans in, quickly, kisses the Spy's smile lightly before he can change his mind.

"What... what was that?" The Spy touches his lower lip, rubs at it as if to banish the fleeting sensation. "I don't need to be pandered to."

"Wasn't. Just... thanking you. For a job well done and all. Didn't mean it to make fun."

"Oh. In that case... in that case, I should perhaps point out that my price is two kisses." The smile, mercurial as the man himself, shifts into something at once playful and hesitant.

"I see. Didn't mean to shortchange you." The Sniper smiles back in kind, kisses the Spy again. He can't pull himself away, dives back in open-mouthed.

The Spy's little gasp of surprise at the third kiss is rewarding.

"I believe that was three," He sighs.

"That was a tip."

"Too much,"

"I insist."

"Oh, no, Monsieur. Your change..." The Spy drags him back down, nibbles gently at his lower lip.

"Keep it," The Sniper moans, before pushing his tongue into the Spy's mouth, mapping it out. Before he's even sure what he's doing, his hands are all over the other man and he's forgotten why he came down to the showers in the first place. Something about the shirt he's still not wearing.

When the kiss breaks, they're both breathing hard. A brief glance is enough to confirm that the Spy's towel is just as tented.

"Your usual barber must be a very lucky man." The Spy pants.

"Don't be crass. Anyway, I don't have a usual barber."

"May I volunteer for the position? As well as any other positions you may have for me?"

The Sniper nods and wills his hands steady as he finally reaches for his shirt. "Think we could discuss such an arrangement. Maybe someplace a little more private."

The Spy dresses quickly. "I'm with you, then."

107 .

That was bloody beautiful! Now I want a hair cut, great fill.

108 .

Oh my. I think I've seen a picture for this exact sort of thing.

Thank you. Very refreshing. I love when people play with each other's hair. It's a very soothing thing to read.

And I learned what pomade is! Thanks for that!

109 .

Ayyeeee, this is pretty perfect.
I like same-faction Spy/Sniper a lot more than cross-faction, and I also love a Spy who doesn't mind showing his face to his teammates.

110 .

That was so relaxing and lovely. I'm pleased you wrote it! The kisses as payment exchange was extremely cute and sweet. I smiled. I was also very pleased with how many skills Spy has. It makes a lot of sense, especially for an espionage merc. Not to mention, the work may always be out there but finding the people to hire a merc can't be simple every time. With TF2 universe there's really no telling but I somehow doubt they have adverts in the paper saying "Merc for hire! Killing them dead since I could crawl! Contact this number here." Though the reverse for employers looking might be true, there'd still be a smaller number of folks willing to pay for advertising and etc.

111 .

Two bits! Haha.
I really like this one, mainly because I'm a sucker for those hesitant back-and-forth interchanges. Also a plus: that mini backstory with spy being alienated before Sniper was present to make any opinions.
... Shoot, that's going up on the request thread.

Captcha: 7/8/1812
Captcha is reminding me to review downfalls of generals during American war campaigns.

112 .

OP here. Might I have your internet babies?
Seriously, thank you so much for filling my request. I loved it and now I am forever indebted to you.

113 .

Thanks, all! I did enjoy writing a completely different kind of Sniper/Spy than usual.

114 .

Still awake... so, going in depth with the 'Shave and a Haircut' Sniper/Spy.


The Spy coughs, coming to stand at the Sniper's shoulder, attempting to attract the other man's attention without drawing the attentions of the rest of the team. Still, it is not as though they cannot see and hear him. Not as though he cannot employ a subtle touch, anyway.

"I have the book you asked about in my room." He says casually.

They hadn't really gotten around to discussing literature, when they'd gotten some time to themselves in the Sniper's van, and the last thing the Sniper had asked him had been 'so when can we do this again'... The Sniper gets to his feet easily, a smirk plucking at the corner of his lips.

"His room? I wouldn't fall for that, man." The Scout jeers.

The Sniper's jaw tenses, tenses up worse when he sees the way the Spy's expression closes down, the way the figurative mask shutters his face up tighter than the real one ever hides him.

"Of course. How silly of me to have forgotten. I am, Monsieur, a bit of a pariah." He nods to the Sniper with an ironic little smile that doesn't look at home on his face. It would be one thing if his eyes were in on it, sharing the joke, but they remain blank.

"Oh?" The Sniper swallows back a hard bitter lump.

"I will just... I'll go get it. I can just as easily bring it to you here."

With that, the Spy's ducked out of the room, and the Sniper glares at the Scout with no shortage of malice.

"What? The guy's a fruit, you oughta be thanking me! Who knows what he'd try with you if you went off alone with him."

"He's on your team." The Sniper points at the Scout. "I've known him long as I've known any of the rest of you--"

"You never really know a Spy, though..." The Engineer says, uneasy. "Even if he's on your team, I mean-- well, not letting people know much about you's part of the job. And... It's not just the boy talking, he's-- He admitted as much to the rest of us."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I happen to take something like somebody being my teammate serious. You stand with your mates. If you're in a war, if someone's fighting for your side?"

"We shouldn't have queers fighting on our side." The Soldier argues, and the Scout and Engineer both nod.

"Well, the Spy hasn't given me a reason yet not to trust him. He's saved my life a couple times out there."

"Well, I don't know how they do things where you come from, pal," The Scout starts.

"Where I come from," Sniper cuts him off. "Shagging another bloke's illegal. And nobody looks kindly on it, neither."

The Scout's mouth closes.

"So how come you're fine with it?" The Soldier challenges.

"Like I said, he's saved my life and he hasn't given me any reason not to trust him." The Sniper lies. He hates that he's lying, when the Spy's already paid the price for being honest, when the whole situation sets his stomach roiling, but he's gone his whole life with that lie and he doesn't know how to shed it now. "Besides, whatever he likes, he's... We're on a team, yeah? So it doesn't hurt me any to be nice to any one of my teammates."

"That's what you think, but--" The Engineer hesitates. "Look, I'm not saying he's a bad person, necessarily. But you don't want to go giving him the wrong idea."

"I'm not." That much, at least, is true.

"I'm just saying, fellas like that, they might... they might misunderstand some things. You might just mean it as honest friendship, but a guy like that probably--"

"Probably what?" He folds his arms and leans forward.

"It's a mental weakness, is what our Engineer means." The Medic frowns, coming out from behind his newspaper. "Or if you prefer, a pathology."

The Scout nods, his jaw jutting forward confidently, though his eyes remain confused.

"Right. When a guy decides to be that way--"

"A pathology is not a decision, Herr Soldier." The Medic sighs. "Trust me. The Sniper already mentioned that homosexuality is a crime in his country. I have seen it criminalized as well, I daresay to a greater extent. When it is easy enough to have sex with a pretty girl, no sane man chooses something he will be jailed or killed for. Anyway, as skilled as the man may be with a lie, I trust that he was at least telling the truth when he said he wasn't attracted to us. Well, at least most of us. Well, at least, he hasn't bothered me at all..."

'Pathology', the Sniper feels, is not any better.

"Look," He says. "It doesn't benefit you any being cruel to him."

"We're not being cruel." The Engineer is honestly baffled. "Nobody's saying we oughta string him up for something-- like the Doc says-- he can't help himself over. Just warning you off being too friendly with him, that's all."

"You're not listening to what I'm saying. I'm saying, Scout, if you take every chance you get to rib him about-- well, about anything, really-- then he's not going to be too keen on keeping you out of trouble when we're all on the field. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I like my teammates to watch my back."

"Sure, so do I, but I don't want 'em watching my ass."

"Look, the Spy understands how things are, and the team's working out fine. Nothing to worry about." The Engineer says, an attempt to soothe. It falls far short, and it's all the Sniper can do to keep himself from throwing off the friendly thump to his shoulder.

The Spy enters, gaze flickering across the room, a book in hand.

"My apologies," He says, and those two words are achingly sincere, despite the facade built up around the rest. "The book is of course in French, but I included a translation of the passage in question."

"Thanks." The Sniper nods. Once the Spy's gone, once no one's eyes are on him, he opens the book and finds the note tucked inside.

'Come to my room when no one is paying attention', it reads. 'We can talk then'.

Talk hadn't been foremost on his mind, but he wants to now. Wants to ask how the Spy can bear it. Where he got the courage or the idiocy to tell these men about his preferences, and why he bothers with any of them when it might be so much more satisfying to let the whole team lose just to see them suffer.

He misses the simplicity of their first night together, when his only questions had been about where and how to touch, when his only problem had been inexperience, and that was quickly relieved. He could have known it wouldn't last... he knew the rest of the team had imposed a couple rules on the Spy, anyway.

Once it seems like everyone's forgotten his outburst or his presence, he leaves, but the Scout's left as well, and they run into each other in the hallway.

"What's up?"

"Returning this." He waves the book.

"That's fast."

"Can't read most of it." The Sniper shrugs.

"Oh. Right. Look, it's cool if you want to be everybody's friend or whatever, and I guess if he did jump you, you could probably take him out, but you oughta know, if you keep sticking up for that guy, people are gonna think you're all queer for him. I'm just telling you how it is."

"Well thanks, but I think I can handle myself."

"I'm just saying." The Scout raises his hands, before taking off.

The Spy opens the door before the Sniper can knock.


"Come in." He smiles sadly.

"Part of me wanted to just tell him, you know. And I couldn't do it."

The Spy takes the book, and leads the Sniper over to his bed. "Lie with me a moment."

"And maybe... maybe I'll never be... I don't know how you can do it."

"I am used to being forward about it. It is different... I am used to a different sort of society. I am used to salons with artists and intellectuals who openly embrace the outcast. I pretended to be a lousy painter to fit in with them-- I have never been part of a society where I did not have some lie to tell. But I was not the only one who preferred the company of their own kind. It was an insular world. And in cities across Europe, in places where I did not have to worry about a reputation or a name or a past and a future, there were few consequences for such openness. If there was ever a problem, I merely left town or adopted a new identity. I was not prepared for... all of this, I suppose. But, I was not prepared for you, either."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Well... it is never a good thing to be unprepared, but it is never a bad thing to have someone willing and wonderful in my bed."

"Oh?" The Sniper drapes an arm around him.

"I think we have some things in common. True, you have always hidden that particular similarity. But... I know deception well, too. And we both know what it is to be the lone wolf. And my time with you is pleasant, even when the world is not."

"Yeah. Yeah, reckon so."

"Tell me..." He smiles wickedly. "What did you do with the underwear I left in your van?"

The Sniper's face heats. "Do? I mean-- I didn't--"

"Just keep it. I said you could. But... I asked you here for something a little more exciting."

The Sniper can't help a reflexive swallow. He'd found the other night in the van plenty exciting. He'd teased the Spy a bit at first, for being exactly the type of fancy French fop who'd wear silk underwear, but instead of teasing him about his own choices-- very utilitarian and very worn-- the Spy had only said 'of course I wear them, they feel so good', had wriggled out of them and swished the fabric across the Sniper's heated skin, had wrapped the silk around him and stroked him through it and left them behind at the end of the night, damp and stained...

The Spy hands him a condom and a tub of Vaseline, and the smile he offers is more nervous than teasing.

"I want you to have me." He says.

That... "I guess that is a little more exciting." The Sniper admits.

The Spy grins.

115 .

Why would you stop there. Oh my god.

116 .

Accidentally discriminatory Engineer! I did a little happy gasp when I saw that.

117 .

This is beautiful, don't ever stop writing ♥♥♥
And I love the fact that you studied about homosexuality during that era in different countries. Medic telling everyone that it is a pathology was great, nice touch.

118 .

You people make me ridiculously happy, so I shall attempt to return the favor... with pornography!


The Spy strips and gets on his knees, bent over and waiting, and the Sniper has to remind himself to breathe. He strokes one palm across the other man's ass, eagerness and hesitancy fighting their ongoing war within him. The Spy's sigh adds artillery to the 'eagerness' side of things.

"I've wanted you in me... since you kissed me in the showers, I knew I needed to have you."

"Did-- Did you want me to... the other night?"

The Spy nods and swallows a little moan as the Sniper's thumb spreads his cheeks. "I did, a bit. It seemed a bit soon for that, though. When you told me you were a virgin--"

"I didn't say I was a virgin. I said I hadn't with a bloke before. There is a difference."

The Spy chuckles. "I thought I might have some fun building up to it, anyway. Do not think last night disappointed me in any way. A word of warning, though... tonight?"


"When you fuck me?"

The Sniper's mouth hangs open a moment, before he can get any strangled sound of assent or attention out.

The Spy just chuckles. "That is what will happen. Isn't it?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah." He uncaps the Vaseline. "Doesn't it-- Isn't it... uncomfortable?"

"Not for me. I trust you. You use your fingers first, to get me ready."

The Sniper nods. Even knowing the Spy is facing away and can't see, he can't make any sound to accompany the gesture.

"When you fuck me," Spy continues. "You need to reach around and... muffle me. I'm afraid I can be... loud. It wouldn't do for our teammates to hear."

"Muffle... Yeah. Okay. Um-- Yeah." He dips a finger into the Vaseline experimentally, before coating it.

"You can always smother anything you can't hold in against me." The Spy offers. "You can even bite down on me, I don't mind it."

The Sniper unzips his jeans with his un-slicked hand. The pressure is starting to be a problem, and the thought of biting the Spy is more appealing than he thinks it ought to be. Another resounding volley against hesitancy.

"Okay?" He starts working a finger in. It doesn't seem like it should be okay, the tightness around his finger is incredible.

"Almost... deeper?"

"Sure?" He slides in to the next knuckle and the Spy bites down on his own fist, but the low dirty moan that does escape doesn't sound pained. "Guess so."


The Sniper complies, spends long moments just watching his finger slide in and out, watching the sweat start to bead at the small of the Spy's back and on his thighs, watching the way his hips push back and the heavy swing of his balls and his hardening cock.

"Give me more,"

Hesitancy is no match for eagerness. Not when the Spy is begging him in a raspy half-whisper, not when his body is so surprisingly accommodating to intrusion, and not when the sweat is rolling down the inside of his thigh begging to be tasted.

The Spy gasps and jerks, though whether it is because of the second finger or the tongue tracing up his leg the Sniper doesn't know. The Spy already smells like sex, tastes sharp and heady, and the Sniper has to fumble with the condom like he's a blushing virgin teenager, has to use his teeth to tear at the wrapper.


"Can't get any deeper than this," Sniper crooks his middle finger slightly. "You want me in you for real now?"

"Please..." The Spy's head hangs forward. His hips shift slightly, and he moans when the Sniper's hand pulls away and moans again when the head of his cock presses in.

The Sniper stretches forward, slips his un-lubricated fingers into the Spy's mouth, as his slick hand reaches down to fondle the hanging cock.

"Good?" He pushes in, stroking the Spy as he does so, and for an answer, he gets a tongue laving over his fingertips and the Spy pushing back to take him deeper.

He kisses the Spy's shoulder blade. He's used to keeping himself quiet under a lot of circumstances, but having permission to bite down to muffle his moans is nice... after a few more kisses, he takes advantage of the offer, closes his teeth around a pale bony shoulder and thrusts in hard. He can feel the Spy's moans, along with more suction, more of the clever tongue swirling around his fingers, and the Spy's release spills out over his hand. The Spy's body under his, around him... everything suddenly tighter and hotter and somehow even better in that moment before he goes over.

After, he has no idea what to do with himself, what to think or feel. The Spy gives him a cigarette and for a while they lie in silence.

He should have undressed... his clothes are damp and sticky, there's no hiding the sex that hangs like a cloud around him now...

The Spy kisses his cheek. "Do you want me to make sure that the coast is clear?"

"I... Yeah."

"You were wonderful, you know..."


"Yes." He smiles, and this time he plucks away the cigarette to kiss the Sniper full on the mouth. "Fantastique."

"You were-- You are-- You're incredible. I don't just mean sex..."

"Thank you." The Spy rolls out of bed and dresses. He spends a moment at the door, opening it only a crack and using a small hand mirror to check the hallway beyond. "A straight shot to the showers."

"Thanks." The Sniper wipes his hand on his shirt and does his jeans back up. He pauses before the door. "I-- Come by."

"Tonight?" The Spy raises an eyebrow.

The Sniper blushes. "I want to give you something. Just come by tonight, okay? It only has to be for a minute."

"I will, I promise. Now hurry." The Spy gives him a gentle push out into the hall and closes the door, sags against it. After a moment, the Sniper's parting words sink in, though, and he can't help smiling like a fool.

119 .

Oh man, I never meant for this to turn into something long...


After dark, the Spy goes out to the Sniper's van, raps on the door five times in a rapid patter.

The Sniper opens the door with a grin. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

The Sniper's grin goes nervous as he lets the Spy in, as they move to sit on the bed, the only very comfortable place in the camper to be.

"So... you wanted to give me something?" The Spy drapes an arm across the Sniper's shoulders, and is pulled into a kiss. "Mm, lovely... but you didn't ask me out here just to give me that?"

"Nah... but as long as you're here." The Sniper kisses him again, deeper, tugging his body in closer and delving into his mouth, tongues sliding together.

"You will not hear me complaining." The Spy chuckles softly.

"No, I-- I wanted you to-- I mean, you... Well, you, uh... You left me something, and... I thought about it a long time, and, it's not like I could return the favour exactly. I haven't got any sexy underwear or anything, but... I reckon I could still give you something that belonged to me, to hold onto. It wouldn't be... you know, much good for that, but... you could have something."

"I would very much like to have something of yours." The Spy smiles. "Even if I cannot masturbate into it. No-- No, really. Really, I mean it, I think it's sweet. I would like that."

The Sniper fishes around in his vest pocket, coming out with a long yellowed tooth on a leather thong. The Spy loosens his tie and collar and lets the Sniper tie it around his neck, where it can stay hidden under his shirt and his suit.

"Did you kill this yourself?" He runs a finger along the edge.


"That is kind of sexy." The Spy offers.

The Sniper grins again, nerves replaced by pride. "Saltwater croc. Took more'n a few of his teeth, got a few in one of my hat bands. Oh, he was something."


"Huge. Gorgeous creature. But, I mean, when they start eating kids and old people, someone's got to step in like. This one was something of a terror, and the community'd taken me in, while I was out on my own. So when they needed someone to take it out, I was happy to volunteer, I guess. Anyway, that's where I got that scar you saw. Not from his teeth, if I'd'a let him bite me, I wouldn't be here talking to you. Just one of the claws. I meant to just take him out from off a ways, but he wasn't... wasn't entirely dead when I went down to check on him."

"How exciting." The Spy leans forward.

"Well, it was something of a surprise to me, yeah. But I wasn't taking any big risks even so, and I came out on top. Guess I learned how many bullets to the head won't kill a crocodile..."

"How many?"

"Three, but one of 'em was off a bit."

"Thank you for this." The Spy tucks the little trophy under his shirt, re-fastens the collar and adjusts the tie. "And for the story of how you came by it."

"Just... wanted to give you something."

"And I really do think it's sweet of you." He kisses the Sniper's cheek. "I had no idea you were a romantic. And a dangerous big game hunter... it's not a bad combination, actually."

"I should let you go. But maybe you could come out here tomorrow night and let me give you something a little different...?"

"I have a feeling it would be my pleasure." The Spy grins and kisses the Sniper again before rising. With the rough leather cord against the back of his neck and the smooth fang resting over his chest, and the memory of the kisses and conversation playing over in his mind, he is walking on air all the way back to his own bed.

120 .


So lovely! Please continue :)

121 .

Sadly, I don't have more of the Shave-and-a-Haircut Spy/Sniper at the mo', but... I have a quick, silly Tavish/Jane one-shot, and it seemed like it would do better here than in a thread of its own, being as it's pretty short.

(and bonus points to anyone who recognizes my inspiration for this one... I will admit to barely making any change to the punchline.)

~~~The Air Between The Threads~~~

Tavish Degroot was not a man who got nervous easily. Drunk or sober, he weathered things that might throw a lesser man, and he did so with, he liked to think, no small amount of aplomb. He was a brave man, a tall man, a handsome man. Little in the world rattled a man like that.

One thing did.

His mother, talking about marriage. Saying things like 'I want to live to hear my grandchildren, Tavish'.

Then, she brought out The Degroot Marriage Tradition. It was the strongest weapon in her arsenal, to be sure. She very mistily told the story of how his father had proposed to her, how his father's father had proposed to his grandmother, and so on and so forth.

It was rather difficult to break it to her, at that point, that he could hardly in good conscience propose to some girl while quite happily shagging his best friend, who he could not propose to. He decided not to tell her, though what he would tell her, he wasn't sure.

Find a way to sneak Jane past her, perhaps? So far, she approved of him seeing a lot of someone named 'Jane', but hearing the man's voice would probably change her mind a bit...

Well, he didn't have to make it a proposal... after all, it wasn't as though they could get married. Too many reasons why they couldn't get married. Still... he liked The Degroot Marriage Tradition... As much as he hated the pressure that came with, he enjoyed hearing his mum tell the story of the day his da'd come tromping up to her door in his Sunday best to present her with a shawl in the family plaid...

He could make a sort of... invitation, maybe. An informal sort of invitation, to bring Jane into the family in an unofficial way... Maybe it would be the last thing needed, to really repair their relationship, after all it had suffered...

It was late on a Thursday evening when he finally mustered up enough courage. Most of it he'd found in the bottom of a bottle, and the rest he'd found in the bottom of the third bottle. Getting into his own Sunday best was a bit of a trick while drunk, but he managed. Almost. His Sporran wound up behind him instead of before, and his shirt may not have been buttoned correctly, but he was dressed and regimental, and that was really as much as any man could ask.

He didn't actually have the shawl. For one thing, it was at the mansion, with his mother, and he could easily enough get it on the weekend if he was willing to come up with a story for her, but on the weekend, he would be sober... More importantly, he sincerely doubted Jane wanted any kind of ladies' garment, no matter how traditional or symbolic it was. Still, he had a plan. He was going to go over there, knock at the door of the BLU base and hope Jane answered, and then he was going to...

He had half of a plan, and he would come up with the rest when he got there.

The evening chill had already settled over Dustbowl, but that was no deterrent. Tavish had an overcoat, and a fair handful of hats that would all do the trick of keeping his head warm.

He kept his feet under himself on the long walk across the battlefield, and completely failed to notice when his kilt snagged itself on one of the splintering boards that he stumbled past, as he weaved around one ramshackle building.

It was gone before he reached the BLU base.

Jane wasn't the one to answer the door, but the BLU Spy sent him out quickly and without much more than a raised eyebrow.

"What did you need?" Jane looked concerned, more than anything else. "Isn't it kind of risky you coming over here."

"Couldn't wait. I needed to talk to you about something important." Tavish shook his head, then threw his coat open. "Well? What do you think of me? Wanted to dress up something special to see you."

"Well... Aw, you know. It's... nice. Really impressive." Jane blinked. He wasn't entirely sure what occasion had spurred his best friend-- his sometimes-maybe-more-than-just-a-friend-- to cross the battlefield half-naked and flash him, and he wasn't sure if he should really complain. "Uh... it's the best one I've ever seen?"

"Well, if you like that," Tavish grinned. "I've got a good yard and a half more of it neatly tucked away."

122 .

121 Oh gods I love it.

123 .


124 .

I desperately needed to write some porn, and I hope some people desperately need to read it. Sniper/Spy tickle torture was requested, and while I didn't know a whole lot about tickling as a fetish, I am willing to give it a shot, and I hope I'm doing it right. (Included a little bit of nipple play and general 'sexy torture (of an enemy)' that had been requested separately)


Things had been building to a head all over. Communications had been severed with headquarters for both RED and BLU, but with respawn in full working order, there had been no need to put their daily battles on hold.

The savagery had intensified, however. Stripped of contact with the civilized world, everyone was taking liberties with conduct, old rules ignored.

The BLU Spy had archly compared it to a social experiment gone awry, before the Engineer told him to stop being horrible.

Before he had been taken prisoner.

When he came to in the belly of the RED base, it was to find he had been unconscious for long enough that his hands were half-numb, strung up above his head. It made freeing himself worse than a longshot... it made freeing himself nearly impossible. He had his mask, his gloves, his trousers... everything important. His waistcoat and blazer were gone, and his shoes, but he could deal with that.

The door opened, throwing a long shadow across the floor, and the Spy blinked against the harsh light when the switch on the wall was flicked.

"How's it going?"

The RED Sniper. Sounding altogether too amused, although fair was fair, the Spy had been having his own fun at the man's expense that week. Still, under the circumstances...

Well, under the circumstances, there were worse men to be trapped by.

"Bit of an argument over what to do with you." The Sniper continued, strolling in, hands in his pockets and a ridiculous hat perched on his head.

"What is that?" The Spy picked the hat-- there weren't too many targets for mockery, with things the way they were, and he was willing to take a cheap shot if need be. "Are you supposed to be Peter Pan?"

"Robin Hood. And I don't know what you're supposed to be, mate, but it looks like Harry Houdini's right out." The Sniper laughed. "Couple of the blokes thought about taking your mask off. Our Spy and Pyro put a stop to that line of talk, don't you fret. Said some violations just plain go too far. You don't even want to know what Medic wanted to do to ya."

The Spy tried to hide his shudder. He had far too many ideas of what the Medic might want to do with a captive BLU. They were all worse than being roughed up by the Sniper. He could stand being made a pincushion of-- there was always the chance the man would go a little too far and send him to respawn, and to safety. The Medic would be careful. Would heal him just enough to keep playing.

"So where is he?"

"We drew straws." The Sniper grinned. "He lost. I got a question for you..."

"I don't know anything important."

"Actually, I just wanted to know if you were ticklish."

"No." The Spy glared.

The Sniper just laughed again, plucking the feather out of his hat. "Well, we'll see."

"This is quite honestly the most ridiculous-- ah!" The Spy cringed away as the Sniper grabbed for his mask.

"Sh-sh-sh... I'm not going to take it off." The Sniper promised, rolling it up and trailing the tip of the feather along the side of the Spy's neck. Across his throat in a straight line, like drawing a knife... "Nothing?"

"I told you as much."

"I can try harder. What, you'd honestly rather have me stab at you?"

"Yes. At least that way you might kill me and spare us both the rest of this ridiculous exercise."

"Oh no. I'd be careful not to kill you..." The Sniper promised, tracing the Spy's open lips next, other hand holding his head in place, thumb over the pulse of his throat. "But if you're not ticklish after all, we can do all this again with a knife, if that's your idea of fun."

It didn't sound half as bad as the Spy knew it ought to... Then again, he'd started their game. The others had all gotten meaner, more violent, more vindictive. The Spy had instead given himself license to do something else against the rules, to sneak up on the Sniper and give himself away with a kiss or a whispered word just before his own blade hit home. If this was to be an intimate torture, he had earned it.

The Sniper released his throat, fingers gliding up his ribcage, touch light. The Spy squirmed.

"Oh?" The Sniper tucked the feather back into his hat, freeing up his other hand to do the same on the Spy's other side, fingers moving from the Spy's waist up to his armpits, walking, crawling, gently skimming, digging in in earnest... the touches were varied without discernible pattern.

The Sniper stroked the back of his knuckles across the Spy's stomach, low down, just above his waistband. He was in close, his breath warm and soft against the Spy's face, his nearness almost tangible even where they didn't touch, and he nudged the toe of one boot under one of the Spy's feet, lightly stroking along the sole through the thin fabric of his trouser sock. The Spy jerked his foot away before he could stop himself from giving the other man the satisfaction.

"Aren't your friends going to be disappointed in you?" He tries to shift the focus from his reactions. "Surely they expect to see me bloodied and beaten when you are done."

"Other ways to torture a body." The Sniper shrugged, untucking the Spy's shirt, fingertips dragging lightly across soft, warm skin. He unbuttoned it about halfway up, getting the feather out of his cap again to trace the line down to the Spy's navel, circle there, dip in lightly before taking the trail of dark hair down the couple of inches, tip of the feather just on the inside of the Spy's waistband.

He rolled the edge of the mask up again, breathing against the Spy's neck a moment before tracing the very tip of his tongue over the Spy's pulse. The Spy moaned softly, muscles over his stomach fluttering at the light touches, his neck arched.

"I can't tell if you're trying to get away or trying not to beg me for more." The Sniper chuckled. "Well? Which is it?"

"Bastard." The Spy hooked a leg around the back of the Sniper's knee.

"You didn't exactly give me much of a chance, when we were playing on your terms." The Sniper said. "If I didn't have you tied up at my mercy, you'd just be offing me and running away and we'd never get to have any fun together. Now... are you trying to get away, or do you want more?"

"More. Bastard."

He laughed, unbuttoning the Spy's shirt the rest of the way. He teased one nipple with the feather, slowly, in circles moving inward, eyes intent on the tautening nub, and the little rises and falls of the Spy's chest as he struggled with himself. He ignored the other nipple even when he finished, trailing down the Spy's ribcage, the shirt pushed away to allow him to trace the feather over bare skin. Down to trace the exposed ridge of a hipbone rising up over the waistband of the Spy's trousers, back up to brush the side of the feather across the nipple.

He followed that up with the very tip of his tongue, before blowing a stream of air across the wet skin. He raked his thumbnail lightly around the very edge of the areola, studying the little gasps and jerks and shudders.

"You can expect more of the same, if you keep coming up and kissing me on the neck and just killing me and running. That's just plain rude, that is..." He murmured, before letting his teeth scrape gently over the Spy's chest. He didn't bite down, didn't take the nipple all the way into his mouth, didn't do anything that would relieve the Spy of any of the lingering tickle.

The Spy didn't know if that was meant as a threat or a promise. He wasn't sure if he was more or less likely to keep doing it, with that warning in place. Not with the feather dancing across his skin and the Sniper's lips dragging up from his chest to his underarm, and the toe of one boot tracing arabesques on the sole of his foot again. The Sniper was close, but when the Spy's hips jerked forward of their own accord, he wasn't quite close enough.

"Thought you might wind up wanting more." The Sniper chuckled, fingering the Spy's belt. "Tell me what you want now... This is where we stop unless you ask me for something more."

"Such a bastard..." The Spy tried pulling him in again with one leg. "Dammit, if you don't at least get your hand on my cock right now, then you are worse than any torture your medic could devise."

"Aw, I promise I'm not." The Sniper laughed, undoing the belt, the fly. He pushed the Spy's trousers down and got on his knees. "Do you better than a lousy handjob."

"Yes..." The Spy's hips rolled forward again, the Sniper leaned forward, nuzzling his belly just below the navel.

Nuzzling his belly and not moving lower.

Instead, the tip of the feather traced up the underside of the Spy's cock, slow.

"Oh, you bastard son of a whore..." Spy whined.

The feather traced its way back down, the side sweeping around the Spy's sac, the tip teasing the smooth skin just behind.

"Play nice." The Sniper grinned up at him. "You be good to me and I'll be good to you, now."

"What do you want from me?"

"Just this..." He probed gently at the tip, before wrapping his hand around the Spy's shaft, pulling his foreskin back to expose the head only so that he could start the slow torture with the feather back up again.

The Spy groaned, hips bucking forward into nothing as the Sniper's hand fell away, and he swore again, bit down on his lip. The Sniper started the whole process over, always stopping when the Spy grew too eager, until the Spy was holding himself as still as possible and the feather was spreading a drop of precome across the glistening head of his cock.

Every nerve ending was on some queer sort of fire, every place the Sniper had touched still felt as though the attention was there, with no firm touch coming to quiet it.

The Sniper leaned back, sitting on his heels with the tip of the feather held between his own lips.

"Hm..." He closed his eyes a moment, then tucked the feather back into his hat and leaned forward again, tip of his tongue following the feather's path along the Spy's cock, around his balls. By the time he got his mouth around the head, the Spy was coming in short spurts, hips jerking forward, little sobbing noises he would deny until his dying day in his throat.

The Sniper untied him after that, laying him out on the floor and kissing his lips. The Spy could feel the other man hard against him, but nothing was asked for. Instead, eyes closed, the Spy felt the cold edge of a blade on his skin, tracing so lightly it did no more damage than the feather had.

"I could tell them I got carried away with you," The Sniper whispers.

"You did get carried away with me." The Spy smiled.

He places the Spy's hand over the bulge in his own trousers, edge of the kukri still moving across the Spy's chest, teasing.

"Maybe you can take care of this next time I see you, yeah?"

"Of course..."

"I'm sending you back to your side. Tell the rest it was an accident." He kissed the Spy's lips again, his neck, his cheek through the mask.

Then, nothing.

The following day, in the Sniper's nest, the Spy appears, and he teases, but he does not dispatch of the other man quickly...

125 .

Bless you Anne, and all your wonderous writing.

126 .

this is all L&O's fault i'm afraid. we've been gnashing at the bit to write porn scenes and we just can't justify it yet.

127 .

It is absolutely because of the lack of porn in L&O. If it ever becomes fully justifiable, though, it is gonna be so sweet...

Anyway, my chocolate just gave me permission to sleep late tomorrow, so as a counterpoint to that last bit, I present Sniper tied up and whimpering. (and a surprise bit of another requested kink)


The Sniper wasn't sure how he'd wound up tied to his own bed, wearing nothing but his underthings, with a funny taste in his mouth, but the fact that he was on his own bed was some comfort, and the smell of cigarettes and cologne, both very French, gave him enough of an explanation. How is overrated-- now he knew why.

The restraints themselves certainly seemed the Spy's style. Rope, yes, but not just any rope. Not the kind of thing you'd find around either base. It was black and silky-- actually silk, he didn't doubt-- and the knots were solid, the loops around his wrists and ankles neither too tight nor too loose for comfort. Well, if being tied down could be called comfortable under any circumstances, it was comfortable. He would have to ask how the Spy rigged it-- he didn't have bedposts for easy securing, the ropes must have been passed under his mattress and carefully arranged.

He'd ask after the Spy was finished... whatever the next step in their escalating game was, it looked sure to be worth paying all his attention to.

"Wondering why you are here?" The Spy asked, stepping into view. He wasn't quite stooped in the cramped space of the camper, the low ceiling merely forced him to hold his head at an angle, and the angle he chose merely accented his every current advantage.

"Wondering why you're here." The Sniper grinned up at him.

"Oh, mon ami, I am here because you were so very cruel to me... when I was at your tender mercies. And now I will play with you. For as long as I please."

The Spy's voice was a low promising tone that sent an early shiver running through the Sniper, and the pleased chuckle that followed sent chills up his spine. He waited for a touch-- any touch-- fully expecting it to be as light and teasing and drawn out as his own had been, back in the RED base.

Nothing came.

"You look so handsome spread out for me, cheri." Spy sat on the edge of the bed, eyes raking over the Sniper's body. "You would be even handsomer without all this in the way, though, don't you agree?"

"Oh, absolutely."

The Spy flipped his balisong open, twirling it, slicing through the Sniper's shorts and undershirt without nicking him-- without so much as an accidental brush of his hand. With those disposed of, he merely stood back to admire his naked prisoner.

"Definitely a better view without." He smirked, arms folded, knife disappearing. "Now... what will I do with you?"

"Got a few ideas." The Sniper offered.

The Spy laughed. "I am sure you have. I have a few ideas of my own. Oh, I could touch you... could run my hands all over that hard, lean body... feel your muscles respond to my touch. Feel your cock, hard in the palm of my hand. But! I believe-- what was it you said that time? I believe I can do you one better than a lousy handjob."

"Please do." The Sniper squirmed just a little, feeling his cock twitch with interest.

"Then I could lave over you, taste the sweat on your skin, swirl my tongue through all that rough hair, down your chest, down your belly... suck you into my mouth. That might be fun. You are starting to look like a proper mouthful, after all, and I know how to do everything right..."

"Uh huh..." The Sniper shifted his hips slightly, the sheets cool where he hadn't been resting on them for who-even-knew how long. "That sounds real good."

"For you, perhaps, but... what about something fun for both of us, hm? Have you ever been fucked by a man, cheri?"

The Sniper groaned in spite of himself. He hadn't been. He hadn't meant to be interested in doing that, either. He wasn't sure he was interested, but the way the Spy's voice dropped, throaty and painted with lust, was enough to make a man agree to a lot of things.

"You would love it, it is fantastic. I could spend hours, fingering you open, making you slick and ready. Watching your tight little asshole swallow my fingers..."

"Nn-- I've never-- Guess you could--"

"Making you come, just from that touch... It is one of the benefits, you know. You can come over and over again, while I stretch you out. And I would so love watching you come all over yourself, without so much as a finger laid against that pretty cock..."

The Sniper's face heated, he found his hips bucking up off the bed as if he could fuck the Spy's words.

The Spy laughed. "Oh, yes... I would enjoy that. And I would take my time once I was inside you, too. I am in no hurry to be done with that ass. But... maybe that is a little too exciting, for a virgin."

Another dirty chuckle, and the Sniper opened his mouth to protest the moniker.

"Ah!" The Spy laid a finger against his lips, and the Sniper opened his mouth to suck it in. "Oh... hoping to speed up the proceedings?"

The Spy added a second finger, moving them in and out of the Sniper's mouth. He touched him nowhere else, merely pushed in and out, until the first two fingers of his glove were slick with saliva, and the Sniper was moaning around them, writhing on the bed.

"Maybe," The Spy withdrew his fingers, massaging his own nipple through his shirt, leaving a dark translucent spot. "Maybe I will fuck myself on you instead. Ride you up and down, hard... I could put on quite a show from on top of you. I bet you would like that..."

"Please," The Sniper lifted his head.

"Oh, cheri..." The Spy leaned forward, kissing him, careful not to let their bodies touch. "I could untie you... turn you over... tie you back down and smack you until your ass is hot and bright red, and maybe that would teach you not to torment me. I would feel bad, of course, but sometimes a little discipline is necessary... Still, after, I might kiss it all better... No. No, if I let you on your stomach, you, naughty thing you, will just rub off against the mattress before I have any fun with you."

"Least I touched you," The Sniper moaned.

"True. I am being mean." Another kiss, and this time the Spy lowered himself, their chests touching, one hand dragging along the Sniper's side. He pulled back, nuzzling the Sniper's temple and whispering in his ear. "And who knows what twisted revenge you will take, if I do not have mercy now..."

The Sniper bucked up from the bed as best he could, brushing against the Spy, coming as he did.

The Spy sat, sighing.


"What?" The Sniper crossed his arms and turned away, his face red.

"You got come on my suit."

"If that's not what was supposed to happen, then maybe you should've played that one a little differently."

"It was supposed to go a little longer..."

"I like dirty talk, okay?"

Another sigh, and the Spy lit a cigarette, placing it between the Sniper's lips before untying him. "Fine. I will see you next time."

"Hey-- hey, you don't have to go... I mean... I can still blow you, if you want." He sat up, resting on his elbows.

The Spy smiled, returning to the bed. "I'll try not to take too much more of your time."

"Shut up. C'mere and get your pants off."

"Avec plaisir..." He crawled up to kneel at the head of the bed, one hand stroking the Sniper's hair. "Maybe I can stay a little while after, too..."

The Sniper kissed the Spy's hip. "That'd be nice."

"Just for once."

"Just to say we'd done it." He grinned, before moving to close his lips around the head of the Spy's cock.

The Spy stayed an extra hour in his bed after, just cuddling.

128 .

One humble crit:

"What?" The Sniper crossed his arms and turned away, his face red.
How'd he manage that, tied down?

Other than that, the Sniper isn't the only one who likes dirty talk. Unf.

129 .

128 that confused me to, but I just assumed he broke the ropes. With all the manly strength of Australia.

130 .

Just. the tying down. and. Dirty talk. and.
If I could have sex with this fic, I would.

You have a brothel at your disposal. With lots of empty rooms. And not empty rooms. And, considering the time, aphrodisiacs lying around, if that is truly necessary. Write some porn for Law and Order. It will be so beautiful.

... Under-cover hookers?

131 .

I'd like to request a fanfiction, please. Based on this picture:

Here is my idea: Sniper hasn't heard from BLU Spy in a few days and is very worried, so he decides to sneak around the BLU base to try and find out what happened. It turns out that an Emergency BLU Spies Meeting had been called all of a sudden (maybe the recent Mann Co. trouble means that they stopped making spytech tools?), and his BLU Spy's current base had been randomly picked for the group’s meeting. Thus, for the last couple of days, a whole bunch of BLU Spies has been staying at his lover’s place, discussing the problem at length, and forcing him to be extra careful and stay away from Sniper to avoid suspicion.

Unfortunately, while Sniper is sneaking around, he gets captured. With a whole bunch of BLU Spies keeping watch on Sniper, BLU Spy is forced to ask RED Spy for help to save his lover. The problem isn't just rescuing Sniper, but doing so while making sure that his highly-perceptive guests don't find out about their secret relationship.

132 .


(I really liked that picture, too! So this was fun to spend all day playing with))

The Sniper wasn't sure whether to be angry or worried. There was a cease-fire-- during which the teams were confined to the base anyway-- and yet not once during the three days they'd had so far, the perfect opportunity, with the Sniper's van being 'on base' without being on base-- had the Spy come to see him.

Finally, he decided he'd figure out how he felt about the spook after he got the chance to talk to him. And that meant breaking into the BLU base. Something he was ready to do, as soon as the sun went down.

He found a ladder, and his Spy's window. When he got there, he found about five identically-dressed men waiting for him.

"Well, well, well..." One of them sneered, as two others pulled him into the room. He could see his own Spy-- recognized the eyes, and saw the quick look of horror flash across his face, before he composed himself.

"What have we here?" Another spy crowded in.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being shoved into a chair, and ropes were brought out. It was his Spy doing the tying, something he was grateful for, since the ropes could have been a lot tighter.

"Who sent you?" One of them barked. Another scrambled to cover a map, a third stuffed papers haphazardly into different folders, and they all hissed at each other in french, before his Spy blindfolded him.

"What do you want?"

"Don't exactly have a name, rank, and serial number to give you, sorry."

"Idiot." His Spy hissed, but he could hear the worry.

"Come now, we know why you are here. Your team knew about this meeting, they sent you--"

"Why send their sniper?"

"Who knows why those imbeciles do anything. If their spies are meeting at a different base, they don't have one to send against us..."

There were more whispers, after that, more french, but when the question of what to do with him came up, the Sniper heard it plain as day.

"I doubt he knows enough to make getting him to talk worth the trouble." His Spy yawned. "Just leave him, we can conduct the rest of the meeting en francais, he will be none the wiser. I can take care of him when we are done here."

"Even if he doesn't speak it, he could remember enough to parrot back to his spy."

"Maybe we should piss on him."

"NO-- I mean-- Don't work out your frustrations with your own enemy sniper by flinging urine around MY room. This one is not so filthy as that, anyway."

"Maybe we should--"

There was more french after that, some suggestions sounded violent, others sexual, but in the end, his Spy convinced the others to just watch him, begging off to make a call.

A call? The Sniper shifted nervously in his chair. How long was that going to take? And how was that supposed to help him?


The Spy had done everything he could, to preserve his lover's dignity, and to reassure him where he could, with a few stray touches as he bound and blindfolded him. And now...

Now he had to find a way to get him out.

He knew what that way was, and he also knew for it to work, he wouldn't be able to do anything to help.

"What do you want?" His opposite number met him outside the RED base, clearly suspicious.

"Your Sniper got himself lost inside our base. My colleagues are rather keen on doing him some mischief. I thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to inform you."


He nodded. "Wear my face. Go in. Betray no surprise over anything you see, and do not let anyone know that you are not who you appear to be. Then get your friend and go home. If you can do that, you will be able to call on me for any favour you find yourself needing--"

"Oh, I know what I want from you." The RED Spy snorted, grabbing the BLU's tie. "And you know, as well."

"They're yours."

He smiled. "Why would you owe me, for this?"

The BLU Spy blanched. "I want that filthy bushman out of my room. Before things get ugly. It is worth the negatives of your photographs, to have him removed."

He laughed. "Keep them, if you want to. They are nothing compared to the knowledge that you are fucking the enemy himself!"

"I didn't--"

"Or he is fucking you. And you want me to rescue him. Don't play games with me, petit, you'll never win."

"That's funny, I have photographic evidence to the contrary."

The RED Spy shoved him back, glaring. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I do. The negatives are yours. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can. I'm the best."

The BLU Spy grumbled, watching him go, seeing himself walking into the base.

He went to the Sniper's van, couldn't show up as an extra spy without blowing the game. He still worried, but at least he worried in a place where everything reminded him of his lover.


He knew right away that it wasn't his Spy coming back. The voice was close, almost dead on, but the tread of the feet was all wrong.

The conversation continued in french, he could hear drinks being poured, someone told a joke, and all the while, the Sniper was growing more and more nervous.

After a while, there was a heavy thud, then three more, and his ropes were being untied. His teammate was standing in front of him when he took his blindfold off.

"Hm. Those drinks must have been pretty strong." The RED Spy chortled. "Remind your playmate he owes me."

He reached out, one knuckle touching the Sniper's chin lightly, and he laughed again, shaking his head, disguising again before ambling out. "By the way, he has fourteen hours, before they start asking some questions about what they were doing waking up on the carpet."

The Sniper let out a sigh. Maybe this made things a little more complicated, but it was a relief not to be tied up at the mercy of a group of spies with their own agendas. He shimmied back down the ladder, tossing it off to the side and hurrying back to his camper, where his own Spy was there to greet him with a hard hug and a series of desperate kisses.

133 .

Thank you very much for writing my prompt, I'm very grateful :D

134 .

So, the phrase "Soldier in drag" has been in my brain for a while, and since I love helmet party:

So Soldier has a crush on the new Engie, but dosen't know if he (Engie) is gay (he is). To find out, Soldier tries seducing the Engineer on his first day by dressing in drag (heels, makeup, the whole nine yards) and laying on Engie's bed with a dozen roses.

Akwardness (followed by sex, of course) ensues.

135 .

>>134 ...Should not want, but sort of do.

136 .

You totally have me hooked to a new pairing... Engie and Pyro.

I was wondering if you could write that maybe, one of the Pyro's psycho triggers are when Engie dies and goes into respawn, maybe because Pyro was just a few seconds too late, or wasn't there-whatever. And Engie notices after awhile, the team does too maybe, and of course, romance, kisses, sex, whatever you wish ensues haha.

137 .

I've seen a lotta Heavy/Scout and I'm into that but I'd like to see one where Scout tops for once. I think it'd be interesting to say the least.

138 .


I don't really do helmet party or Heavy/Scout, but maybe someone in the regular request thread could help you out with those. Sorry!


Now Engie/Pyro I can do.

It had gotten to the point where the RED Spy was loath to do his job. He was never fond of going up against the Pyro, but it seemed to him like the little monster was getting worse.

Even among the BLU team, they all had to admit Pyro was... a little unpredictable, sometimes. Not all the time, any of them would be quick to defend. Pyro usually did exactly... whatever it was he or she was paid to do, and beetled around the base after hours helping out in the kitchen or lounging around with a couple of the guys, normal stuff. Sure, sometimes Pyro would get a little bit too fascinated with fire, but someone could usually pull the little guy back before any damage was done, battles aside.

There were just... times. Times when Pyro wasn't Pyrosself. Mostly harmless stuff. Staring off into space too long, getting too excited about something on television, insisting on that one ladies' hat-- and that one was only really weird, they pointed out, if Pyro was a man under there.

And then there were the times Pyro went berserk on the field, and it was the RED Spy who always seemed to take the brunt of it.

It was the BLU Spy who started putting it together, beyond that. Specifically, it was the RED Spy attacking the Engineer's nest-- most specifically, attacking the Engineer.

The protective streak was curious. Touching, perhaps... at least, so long as it was happening to someone else. He spent enough time monitoring the Pyro so that he could get to the cause, but he avoided watching the aftermath. Seeing his double being brutally murdered was hard to stomach, and he'd killed the man himself in the past. This was different. This was savage.

It wasn't his place, to mention anything to the Engineer, but he did anyway, tone lofty and amused when he spoke of the firebug's 'little crush', only to be snapped at and shooed away.

The Pyro is a little more controlled, after that. Still violent, but after all, they are all paid to be violent, it is hardly the mark of the insane to be violent when one is given a weapon and a paycheck for using it. Less panicked, though, whenever it's too late to save the Engineer during an attack to the nest.

The Soldier will say it is discipline, the Medic will say it was a phase. The Engineer will say nothing, and no one presses him more than any of the others. Only the Spy would think to, and the Spy... The Spy would say that the Pyro, unlike the soulless abomination on RED's team, is a sweet enough thing deep down, though he has not plumbed the depths of that suit. Still, he sees and hears enough to know that whatever lives inside the suit has a heart, and that that heart belongs to someone, and he knows more than he would like to about how one makes love in a boiler suit just from his habit of wandering through places without knocking.

139 .

I'm bouncing merrily here at work. Ooh, that was lovely, even better than I imagined. Oh Pyro... you little firebug you. This was beautiful! Thank you so much for writing my prompt!

140 .


I’m working on a Scout/Heavy story, for what it’s worth. I’m not sure when it’ll be done, though, but I’m hoping it’s soon.


Delicious as always, Anne. You’re the master of subtle hinting, saying just enough to tease the imagination. Now I’m curious to know how one makes love in a boiler suit too...

If you’ll accept another request, I have one for you, a bit of role reversal: Spy is the typical secret agent ladies’ man, a gallant charmeur capable of seducing any woman he fancies—but he’s completely inexperienced when it comes to men, never thought he’d want to steal his way into a man’s bed. Finding himself there for the first time, none of his usual tricks doing the job, Sniper has to talk him through it.

141 .

Seconding Cyan's request because oh dear god yes please. I just love seeing a suave character placed into a situation where all his charm has no effect, and I've only rarely seen any good experienced Sniper fic, especially if Spy is involved.

142 .


Ooh, fun!

The Spy has always known, that he prefers men. Deep down, it's what the heart wants, or at least what parts somewhat south of the heart want. He has never allowed himself the pleasure, because a woman will never take his heart, let alone twist it, break it. A woman can never be used as a weapon against him, especially if he never spends two nights with the same one.

Women are fun. The wining and dining, the dancing, the careful flattery. The sex, though there is always a little something lacking, is physically good. Mostly, though, women are safe, and men he knows will get him into trouble.

The Sniper treats sex the way he treats his job-- detachment first and foremost, but a certain amount of fun and satisfaction all the same. And unless the need is dire or the reward too tempting, never-- NEVER-- on his home turf. He can't afford to muck up his own backyard, after all, doesn't need trouble for killing a man or for fucking one.

To work, he travels, to Europe or Asia or the Americas, and when he travels, he finds men.

The Sniper spots the Spy as a pooftah early on. Suspects it well enough straight away, but there's always the chance he's only french-- RED's, after all, proves to be pretty solidly a ladies' man, in spite of the same set of prancey, mincing affectations, and the Sniper doesn't share any of those, but when he wants a good root, he prefers a man.

They dance around each other, until the Sniper begins to recognize subtle and hastily-hidden flirtations sneaking in, and wonders how much longer he might have gone on not knowing, the way the Spy seemed determined to keep it all a secret.

The Sniper prefers the direct approach. When they wind up alone after a round ends in a tie, he traps the Spy against a wall and leans in close.

"Were you planning on grabbing me any time soon, or were you waiting for me to come to you?" He asks, getting a deep sniff of cigarette smoke and aftershave. "Shoulda been more direct, if you wanted me. I don't go for all that hint-dropping. But maybe I shoulda figured you'd be a bloody cypher, yeah?"

He can't tell, if the Spy blanches or flushes at the question, but he can tell the man is taken aback, and he likes it. He doesn't feel like he gets to keep the spook on his toes often enough... There is a moment of weak protest, of the Spy fighting himself before leaning up to initiate a kiss.

It doesn't go well. The Spy is used to having a height advantage, doesn't know how to deal with being the shorter partner in a kiss, doesn't know how to be the prey and not the hunter, either.

In the Sniper's van, in the Sniper's bed, kissing is easier. A horizontal plane puts them even, and the feel of a man in his arms is overwhelming, wonderful, the feel of answering hardness instead of the yielding curves he is used to but has never truly loved. The Sniper gives him no room to flatter, tells him to cut the crap when he tries.

"Bet you like to take it..." The Sniper growls. "Fancy type like you, and the way I catch you looking at me? I just bet you do..."

"I..." The Spy freezes, and after a moment, the Sniper does as well.

"Hey... 's all right if you top, didn't mean to put you off. I can go either way." He promises, giving another biting kiss to the Spy's throat, through the thin fabric of his balaclava. "Fuck, fuck me any way you like..."

"I don't... normally... do this..."

The Sniper pulls back again. "Holey dooley, you are rattled."

He would have thought, if he'd known he'd be seeing the Spy so shaken, that he would laugh, but he couldn't. It was strange, and he felt a little sorry, and he wondered if he didn't think it was just a little cute, in a horrible way.

"Too dangerous. You can have a hundred girls and no one cares. One man and your career could be ruined. That is not even the worst case scenario."

"So why'd you come home with me?"

"Because I wanted to. Because this is different, out here, and I thought maybe with this war it would be different. Not like I am meeting a new woman every night, here. But because I want you."

"Yeah?" The Sniper's smirk returns, full force. "The filthy bushman with his filthy van?"

"Yes." The Spy hisses, clings to him.

"Then just relax and let me do filthy things to you." He smiles, giving the Spy a softer kiss before working at undressing them. "What do you like, sweetheart?"

The Spy bites his lip against admitting ignorance, but the Sniper reads it in him.

"Well that's just fine too." He promises, another kiss, another gentle touch. "What do you want? We can just suck each other off, if you're not into the rest, that's fine. Been a while since I've been on my knees for someone half as handsome."

The Spy chuckles weakly. "How do you know I'm handsome?"

"Oh, I can tell." He gets the Spy's belt undone, trousers down. "And it would be my pleasure. 'Less you'd rather fuck me. Long while, for that, but I've got the stuff on hand."

The Spy swallows, adam's apple bobbing, and the Sniper nips at it, still through the mask.

"I want it all." He shakes his head. "I've come this far. I would just as soon be hanged for everything."

"I'd like to fuck you." The Sniper admits, shucking his own clothes, letting them fall to the side of his bunk. "If it's okay."

The Spy nods, another little silent war with himself.

"You can say no." The Sniper shrugs.

"I don't want to say no, I want to say-- I want to say nice things about you, because we're in bed together. Or will you only shut me down again if I do?"

"If you start telling me my eyes are beautiful, yeah."

"It isn't untrue, just because it is pillow talk. Trite, maybe, but..."

"But nothing. You don't need to talk to me like I'm some sheila."

"May I say I am fond of them?"

"... Fine." He shimmies down to the foot of the bunk, folding himself up to fit. "Figure your first time'll go easier if it's a good one. And I wasn't lying when I said I'd enjoy this."

The Spy doesn't need to ask about that, at least. He has received blowjobs before, though he's never really learned to give one-- at least, not through practice. He prefers this one, to any he's received before. There's a raw passion, and the scrape of stubble against his thigh, and the sounds the Sniper makes which are so unmistakably male, the way control is taken so different than any of the women the Spy has been with, and it's easy to fall apart under that mouth.

When the Sniper slides back up the bed after, reaching to the nearest cupboard with one long arm and returning with a little jar of Vaseline, the Spy doesn't really need to ask about that, either, though it is new.

"I'm clean, by the way." The Sniper offers. "I can still get a condom if you'd like, but they're over--"

"It's fine." The Spy shakes his head again. It feels no less foggy. "Rigorous health exams... haven't had the chance to pick up anything since the last mandatory check-up."

They share a little laugh over it, and then the Sniper spreads the Spy's legs, and distracts him with kisses in between harsh, ragged whispers full of wanting.

"Just gonna open you up," He begins, stroking and circling and teasing.

"Fuck that's tight," He groans, first finger sliding in and out.

"Think about this fighting you sometimes," He admits, when the Spy is finally prepped and stretched, and his cock is ready to slide in to the close velvet heat.

The Spy hangs on through all of it, so different, so backwards, but so much more real and rewarding. And so rewarding, to imagine the Sniper thinking about the two of them like this.

He's a little sore after, though not very, and not in a bad way. It's like a workout his body is unaccustomed to, a sweet slight burn that comes from exertion and not damage, one that fades into pleasant lassitude as they sprawl against each other in the afterglow.

"We'll have to do 'er the other way next time." The Sniper grins, and he lights the Spy's cigarette.

143 .

You can imagine me right now with huge sparkly anime eyes, because that's probably how I look after reading this fic.

144 .

Anon from 141 here! Thank so much for filling the prompt, Anne! I knew you would make it amazing.

145 .

LOVE your work!

Humbly requesting some tentaspy/sniper cross faction bro/romance.

Possible prompt: Red Sniper and Blu Spy use to be the worst of rivals, with slight flirting on the field. Before it could turn to anything else-- Spy disappears, and is later replaced by another Spy. Sniper continues with his job/life, thinking that Spy simply quit.

An attack on his nest forces the Sniper into the water, where he meets a familiar face.

[[I saw this idea on the prompt boards a few years ago, but it was never fulfilled; I always wondered how someone would write it.]]

146 .

As an avid Top Spy lover, I would humbly request the "next time" of which the Sniper speaks.

147 .


Seconded hard.

148 .

Any wee chance I could maybe get some Pyro/Sniper fic for my birthday? If not, it's cool.

149 .

I am also voting for >>145 I would love to see your take on that Anne!

150 .

I hope you don't mind some Omorashi (or Bladder Desperation to non-anime fans).

Lately I've been craving some Scout Omorashi, If it's alright with you, Cat Detective.

151 .



I adore your writing so very much. If I had a printer, I would print out each one of these stories, and give them so many hugs, and make sweet, sweet love to them until the ink runs.
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