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No. 2189
>>61
I'm so glad you noticed!
Huge one, incoming. Can't remember who it was for but it was a prompt about valentines and shit.
This one is filled with author appeal and angry Soldiers. I should’ve given someone a pre-existing relationship BUT NO; I wanted to do it the hard way.
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It had all started with an offhand comment from Pyro about the upcoming Valentine’s day, and one from Spy about how they all deserved gifts for being stuck in ‘zees god forsaken hell hole’ for so long. Sniper tried to ignore the glance directed at him.
That was how they ended up sitting around a table, glaring at their respective slivers of paper adorned with a hastily scrawled class. Or at least, most of them were glaring; Medic had turned a rich shade of pink, Scout was gaping and you generally couldn’t tell with Pyro.
“So…†Sniper muttered into his chest. “Should we get goin’?â€
The team grudgingly nodded or muttered an affirmative- Soldier griping something about being un-American again- and left the room, except for Sniper, who sat there and stared at his slip for a little longer.
When the day actually rolled around- at precisely six o’clock am- Soldier kicked in Heavy’s door, presented the droopy-eyed man with a heart shaped box of chocolates and sat at the end of the bed until Heavy’d finished the box. Admittedly, it hadn’t taken all that long.
“I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THEM, COMMIE MAGGOT.†He saluted and left, leaving Heavy to blink blearily at the door then roll over and go back to sleep.
It was Pyro’s turn to cook that morning, so his ‘valentine’, that in fact turned out to be Scout, was presented with a full English breakfast complete with little heart shaped eggs. He (?) doubted Scout actually noticed, but it was the thought that counted. Scout, it turned out, actually did notice and when he was done he even willingly helped clean up. He complained the whole time of course, but Pyro was glad for his help.
Engineer went overboard; his pride seemed to be at stake, as if this was a little competition between the team. He took Soldier out to lunch at a quaint little restaurant, booked the entire thing out so it was just him and Soldier and let him order whatever he wanted. It turned out to be ribs multiple times but at least Engineer got to choose the wine.
Outside of the battlefield, Demo was usually fairly sober, if a little crazy, and Pyro was more than happy to accompany him back to his home and mumble an asbestos-ruined hello to his blind mother before sitting down to a traditional home-cooked Scottish feast (for lack of a better word). Demo would later refuse to reveal Pyro’s gender to anyone, even with Scout’s persistent badgering.
When Engineer found a bouquet of flowers on his desk, he didn’t think that much of it, just his valentine being skittish- and all signs pointed towards said person being Scout, as the bouquet was accompanied by the boy’s hat and headset. Not an hour later, he found another bouquet on his seat at the dinner table, along with the boy’s cleats. Another hour passed and he found a third bouquet on a Sentry he’d set up, along with Scout’s shirt. Now he could very well see where this was going and his suspicions were confirmed when another bunch was found taped to his bedroom door and Scout’s trousers hastily balled up in a tiny bag hanging from the door handle. Briefly he entertained the idea of leaving the boy where he was in nothing but his socks and underwear, then decided against it when a small, needy noise somehow managed to seep through his closed door. Engineer opened said door- really, they must be made of nothing but two planks of plywood, he thought- and his brain, hardwired for constant thought, simply stopped. On his bed was indeed a Scout in nothing but tight fitting boxer shorts and socks, but Scout also had his teeth clamped around a single orange and yellow narcissi and both hands tied with the same style ribbon that had kept the bouquets together. It went without saying that Engineer shut the door and went to join him.
Out of all of the team, Spy was the least happy. He had been saddled with that psychotic German (possible) Nazi of a Medic and not the Sniper as he’d wished for. So he did what any self-respecting Frenchman would do and tried to seduce him. Medic was –as expected- unwilling to reciprocate, at first, the bottles of wine Spy tried to pry him with went un-drunk and he had the audacity to sever the heads from the roses Spy left for him. Needless to say, it was not an entirely productive day for the usually successful Spy. He was walking past the infirmary, rather late at night thanks to an unusually fitful attempt at sleeping, when he heard particularly soft murmurs from within. His first problem here was how to get inside the infirmary without alerting its inhabitants. When there was a sharp ‘Nein!’ from inside, he took his chance and ran with it.
“What eez going on in ‘ere?†Spy asked, sauntering inside with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Sniper had Medic pinned against the wall, his hands next to the German’s head. Smirking ever so slightly, Spy watched Medic’s eyes dart towards his desk where his Bonesaw lay. There was a small Mexican Standoff as the three considered their situations, eventually Sniper pulled away from Medic and stalked out of the room. Spy followed him without a second thought, disregarding Medic as he opened his mouth to say something.
“So, are you going to tell me what zhat was about, or am I going to ‘ave to torture it out of you~?†Spy chuckled, tugging on Sniper’s sleeve as they walked down the corridor.
“Oi’m not tellin’ ya anything.†The Sniper scowled and pulled his arm away from Spy.
Realising he really wasn’t going to get anything out of Sniper, Spy let him go, watching his broad back retreat down the corridor. He didn’t sigh wistfully, but he did sigh and turn back to the infirmary. Medic had straightened himself out by the time he got back and had taken a seat back behind his desk, the deadly saw was nowhere to be seen but that didn’t mean it wasn’t out of arm’s reach from Medic. Spy decided to be cautious.
“Are you all right Docteur?†He leant on the desk, trying his best not to start thumbing through the files scattered on it.
The Medic looked up from his work to glare at Spy over the rims of his glasses. Spy smiled back at him, just enough that it didn’t look smug. Or so he hoped, he wouldn’t like a Bonesaw to the gut any time soon.
“I am fine, danke Spy.†He didn’t really look fine, particularly flustered, flushed a little around the edges in a way that made him look at least a little less…well…evil. Possibly even slightly attractive, but Spy wasn’t going to go down that line of thought just yet. After all, he still had a Sniper to seduce.
“Eef you are sure?†He raised an eyebrow at the German, silently hoping the man would indulge him, just this once.
Medic sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. “Zhe Sniper he…professed his wish to…†He waved a hand, the way he would when he was trying to translate something. “For lack of a bettah word, fuck me.â€
Spy was surprised. Then he was slightly angry. And then he had to fight back the urge to grin. (He was certainly not depressed, even the slightest, at any point in that uncharacteristic display of emotion.) If he played his cards right, this could very well go to his advantage.
“May I ask why you turned him down?†He slid into the role of concerned friend like you’d slip on a glove, sitting on the edge of Medic’s desk and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Zhere is someone else.†He patted Spy’s hand.
Well it wasn’t Heavy, Medic was very much adverse to the lumbering giant off the battlefield, nor did any of the other members of their team seem likely. Spy’d seen his files personally so he knew the man wasn’t in any sort of romantic relationship outside of here –RED kept very detailed records- so who could it…
Oh.
Medic’s hand lingered ever so slightly on his own.
Oooh.
This could very nearly send Spy into a fit of gleeful giggles if he wasn’t careful. This was going almost exactly the way he wanted it to.
“He is a razzer attractive man though, don’t you zeenk?â€
“Perhaps.†Was Medic’s curt answer as he stood up and walked away from Spy, busying himself by a desk.
Spy followed him and placed a ‘comforting’ hand on his back, rubbing little circles with his thumb. “You are still my valentine for zees silly event, and even eef you haven’t accepted my ozzer gifts, I inseest on cooking for you tonight.â€
Medic made a noise of protest, but Spy was already cloaked and the door was already closing.
Now for Sniper.
How he was going to do this was anybody’s guess, especially as Sniper was refusing to let him into his nest, a trunk of clothes pushed on top of the hatch and a threat to blow his head off if he even tried coming in through the window again. Offhandedly, he mentioned he’d be cooking for Medic tonight and as Sniper hadn’t given him his gift yet- super sleuthing mode activated, all things considered it was bloody obvious who’d gotten Spy- maybe he’d like to help out, and eat with them?
Sniper thought about it. He thought about it for a long time and it was beginning to get quite dark when the trunk was pushed aside and Sniper stuck his head out of the nest.
“Fine.â€
The both of them refused to even think of cooking while the others were eating, so all three ended up in their makeshift lounge, playing cards with a bottle of wine between them, pilfered from Spy’s own reserves (he thought he might as well go all out) while they waited for the rabble to leave. Eventually they did and Sniper and Spy shuffled a light headed Medic into his seat at the table in the kitchen, the two of them arguing in quiet voices over what they should make. Spy wanted something extravagant and French. Sniper wanted something simple that was guaranteed to taste good. Right now, Medic was alright with pretty much anything. With a final huff of irritation, Sniper conceded, it was Spy’s gift to Medic after all.
In typical French fashion, the two ‘chefs’ for tonight pulled together a damn decent looking salad buffet for starters, Spy making sure to include everything he’d ordered specifically,- when he’d got the time to do this, he wouldn’t tell anyone- from asparagus to a few phallic looking fruit things. They left the second course cooking while they ate, the slight tension broken when Spy burped, a bright pink tinge to his cheeks when the other two looked at him in surprise.
“Pardon.†He mumbled, ignoring the low chortles from Sniper that sent funny tingles down his arms and the light chuckle from Medic that didn’t do much of anything.
The next course was beef bourguignon with all the trimmings- more red wine than there was other sauces, a few extra ingredients of dubious origin and plenty of onion and spices to disguise the flavour- and Spy brought it out with a flourish, the wine he’d ‘tested’ starting to go to his head a little. He was well aware that whatever Sniper and Medic were eating he’d be eating too, but his little extra ingredients didn’t worry him in the least, they’d only make what was already there more obvious after all. The dish was a hit, Sniper asking for more and Medic gently writhing in his seat and by the time Spy suggested they skip the third course and go back to the bedroom they were more than willing to follow his advice.
Not even ten minutes later and Spy was sitting on Sniper’s lap, the Australian’s cock deep inside him, his legs opened as far as he could while he watched Medic in front of him gather more of the lube that was dribbling all over his expensive bedding, fingers sliding over where Sniper and Spy were joined. Sniper was whispering horridly dirty things in his ear, suggestions, requests and Spy desperately wanted to punch whoever taught him the word slut in French. Unless he’d done it, which was entirely possible. Medic was drawing closer; the ever so slight burn in his ass was long gone, although it did pop back in for a second when vaguely Spy wondered when he’d lost control over the situation. Perhaps, he thought, it was when Medic had begun kissing him feverishly, pressing him against the closed door of his bedroom, Sniper watching from the chair with a strangely Spy-like glint in his eyes. Or maybe when it was when he’d been divested of his clothes completely and Medic was still in his jodhpurs, Sniper only a vest away from his full uniform- and perhaps some buttons but Spy was getting really quite desperate by then. He reflected on this as Medic pushed in alongside Sniper and he realised he didn’t give a flying fuck. He didn’t give a fuck when they both started moving, didn’t give one either when his back was arching and certainly didn’t give one when he was crying out ‘harder harder oh please please please’ and he was so far from giving a fuck when he finally came that giving a fuck didn’t even exist in his vocabulary.
Coming out of his hazy, post orgasmic stupor to pull his cigarette case from his jacket, the pleasantly full sensation not quite having left his ass yet, he realised he may never have had control over the situation. Especially when Sniper pilfered the case and handed one to Medic too before dragging Spy back to lie in between their warm bodies.
And then he remembered.
He didn’t give a single fuck.
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