So I had a couple of fics going and I decided I'll stick them up here when I was done, first is a Trucks'n'Vans for LightSwitchRave as my part in a trade. I may have swallowed a thesaurus recently. --- The fire in the middle of its little circle of logs crackled and spat happily, Sniper prodded at it with the tip of the metal poker they’d brought with them before settling back on a fold-out chair. Engineer was seated opposite him on his own chair, sipping from a bottle of Blu Streak. Sniper pulled his own bottle from the cooler next to him and raised it, clinking it against Engie’s. “To good friends and good memories.†Engineer leapt to the side as the enemy Soldier’s rockets near enough blew him to pieces. He took refuge behind a wall, checking himself over for injuries quickly when he heard a gruff shout of pain- unmistakably a Soldier’s- and Sniper charged around the corner, knocking an arrow in place as he ran. He nodded to the Engineer and took his place opposite him, sheltered by the wall. As the Soldier charged around the corner, Sniper let the arrow loose; it pierced the Soldier’s knee with a wet sounding thunk. The dumpy man keeled forward, carried by his momentum into Engineer’s Gunslinger. Engie snorted into his beer at the memory, recalling the Soldier’s look of shocked horror as his metal arm shattered his face. Sniper smirked; doing his best impression of Soldier’s dying gurgle. The enemy’s Spy tore down the corridor, followed very closely by Engineer. The Spy was desperately waiting for his cloak to recharge and was bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound in his side. Engineer was running as fast as his little legs would carry him, slowly falling behind the Spy as he struggled to load the bullets for his shotgun and keep an eye on the Spy at the same time. The Frenchman clutched his side, stumbling ever so slightly as he tried to keep the relentless pace up. The exit was just ahead of them, the sudden sunlight bright and annoying, the Spy put his free hand over his eyes to shield from the blinding white. There was a puff of dust by the Engineer’s toe capped boots, just ahead of him the Spy stood, motionless, then crumpled to the floor. Engie nudged him with the tip of his foot, tipping his hardhat to the Sniper he knew was watching. The bottles were slowly piling up at their feet, the pleasantly numb haze of alcohol obscuring their inhibitions as the two men slowly shuffled closer to each other. “Gettin’ cold ain’t it?†Engineer drawled, beginning to pick up the bottles littered around them and pulling on a jacket with his other hand. Sniper is wont to agree, standing up rather drunkenly from his little fold-out chair, he began pushing the cooler box back towards the campervan with his foot. “Not as cold as it could be though,†he mumbles. There’s a slight slur to his words. Engineer tosses the bottles into a bin bag, deftly tying a knot in the end of the black plastic and drags it over to where Sniper is lifting the cooler (and awkwardly trying to open the camper’s door at the same time). He chuckles good naturedly at his friend’s predicament and opens the door for him, receiving a nod of thanks as the lanky man clutches the doorframe on his way up the steps. Engie follows close behind, Sniper drank a lot more than him and he seems a little unsteady on his feet. Stuffing the bin bag into a cupboard Engineer glances over his shoulder to Sniper, chuckling as the Australian looks about for a place to put the fairly large cooler box and settles for pushing it into a corner so it’s not quite in the way but not exactly forgettable (Engie can see himself stubbing his toe on it in the middle of the night). Sniper collapses onto the bed at the back of the van- it’s a single but they make it work- holding his hand out to Engineer. “Ah’m comin’.†He chuckles again, closing the door to the camper and slipping out of his jacket, it’s about to get a lot hotter in there. He takes Sniper’s hand with his own, the lanky Australian tugging him down on top of him. He untucks Engineer’s shirt, running his hands over the shorter man’s abdomen and over the cotton of his shirt until he reached the buttons, neatly undoing them with one hand. Engineer lets him do what he wants, even if his cock is straining against his jeans and he needs this. He’ll let Sniper go at his own speed, he always does. The slow, tenuous pace picks up though when Engineer’s shirt is thrown across the camper and he’s pulled down further, Sniper’s lips crashing against his own. The careful caressing degenerated into a wild groping of hands and mouths and tongues, the kind of furious passion that two people who hadn’t seen each other in a very long time would have. The two men were swiftly divulged of their clothes, bare skin with a slight sheen of sweat pressed up against each other. Engineer held himself up on his elbows, nuzzling against Sniper’s chest briefly before returning to tormenting the man with his teeth and tongue. He kissed and licked and nibbled his way down Sniper’s abdomen, hips, pointedly ignored Sniper’s hard cock and stopped at his inner thighs before glancing upward at the lanky man’s groan of frustration. “C’mon Truckie…†He groaned, “Don’ tease me…†Engineer pushed himself onto his hands, hovering over Sniper’s straining erection with a dastardly smirk. Sniper shook his head numbly, muttering pleas under his breath for Engineer to just get on with it. The man descended with an impossible slowness, sliding his tongue out of his mouth to lick a long, languorous line along the underside of Sniper’s cock, halting at the head teasingly. The lanky man shivered under his touch, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. Chuckling again, Engineer sank further down, taking more and more of Sniper’s cock into his mouth. Admittedly, he couldn’t take all of him but it was that terrible swirling motion he did with his tongue every damn time that made Sniper arch and writhe below him, keening for more. “God, Truckie…please…†He moaned, throwing his arm over his eyes and digging his heels into the bed. Obscene sounds filled the camper; Sniper’s harsh panting, the Engineer’s slurping and all too soon Sniper’s back arched nearly in double and a loud groan ripped past his lips. The Engineer moved back a bit, feeling the sudden burst of Sniper’s cum wash over his tongue and down his throat. He sat up on the balls of his feet, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah think we kin git started now.â€
It is so beautiful, man. You wrote it just like how I imagined. The world would be a better place with more Sniper/Engineer.
Please lord let there be more. DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS. T_T Seriously though. Hot. Please continue.
Oh man. More of this please.
The world would be a better place with more Sniper/Engineer. Quoted for truthiness! This is so hot and nicely written. Engie/Sniper is a much beloved pairing of mine. Not nearly enough smut of them!
I'm just going to be mean and leave you all wanting more. Have some Scoutcest instead. It's from a prompt in the request thread, number 29, by Lightnings-Shadow. On a related note, I really like italics. --- Oh he knew his Medic and Heavy were fucking (how could you not, Medic was loud) but that didn’t mean he could just waltz up to one of team mates and be all ‘hey do you wanna fuck ‘cause I’m gettin’ real tired of my hand’ because that would be gay and Scout wasn’t gay. So Scout started to think. Thinking wasn’t something he wasn’t exactly attributed to, he instead preferred to leave all the namby pamby logical stuff to the smartasses on his team (Medic, Engineer, Spy and surprisingly enough, Heavy). He thought so hard his head started to hurt. He wasn’t sure if any of his team were gay and by attribution neither were the enemy, them being themselves (now that just made his head hurt worse, best not to think about that) after all. He supposed if the other’s Medic wasn’t in a relationship with their Heavy he could go to him, but that was only a last resort because the man was a fucking psychopath. There was also the Heavy but he might get crushed under all those folds of fat he had. He was certain the Spies were gay (or bi at a push) because there was no way anyone could have that sort of accent and not be gay dammit. But again they were freaks and both of them gave Scout funny looks that he was certain didn’t mean they wanted to screw him (and he didn’t want to be bottom anyway because that was really gay). Scout was staring out of his window, watching himself (stop thinking like that you’re going to get a headache) harass the other Engineer when an idea struck him like a twenty ton truck. Masturbating was alright (not to certain people, but again Scout doesn’t want to think along those lines) and it was basically having sex with yourself, so why doesn’t he just have sex with himself? It was the perfect plan, he liked looking at himself (he had a great body, he thought) and he especially liked looking at himself when his skin was flushed with arousal and now he was getting horny dammit. He took one last look at himself before heading outside, grabbing his bat and ball on the way out (he needed some sort of excuse to interact with the BLU Scout after all). Outside he called to the other Scout, not missing the Engineer’s look of relief as he jogged away from him. “Ya wanna play a bit? ‘M bored.†The other Scout shrugged. “Sure why not.†Together the two left the area between the two bases, hopping the fence with ease on their way to somewhere where the teams wouldn’t bother them about possibly breaking a window and to somewhere where he could jump the BLU Scout (with his question and quite possibly literally, with luck if the other saw it from his point of view) without anyone noticing. They walked in near silence until the BLU pointed out a good spot and they raced for it, hurling insults back and forward to each other, the two’s speed pretty much identical. The RED leapt on top of the predetermined finish rock, proclaiming his win loudly and profoundly and didn’t stop until the BLU had tackled him to the floor and punched him in the gut. They wrestled in the dust, yelling obscenities until the BLU had RED face down in the floor and his arm pulled up behind him shouting ‘Uncle, Uncle!’ until BLU relinquished his hold on RED’s arm. “Goddamned asshole.†RED spat, sitting up in the dirt and glaring at BLU who was quite contentedly lounging on the rock. “Ya woulda done da same thing.†He grinned. RED scowled, that was a perfectly valid point BLU had, which just made him scowl even harder (and try not to look at how the man sprawled). RED got up, dusting himself off and collected his bat from where he’d dropped it when BLU had flying tackled him to the ground. “So are we gonna play or not?†He asked, staring in the opposite direction of himself and towards the distant bases. The BLU Scout made a noncommittal noise and turned over on his rock. “Don’t really feel like it.†RED Scout grunted, tapping his bat absentmindedly against his leg, he thought about turning around and just coming out with his question, but then decided against it. He had to say something however and was opening his mouth to start when suddenly he found himself flat on his face again, the BLU Scout soundly pinning him to the floor. “Ya know, I’ve been thinkin’.†He said, kneeling on RED Scout’s arms. “Don’t hurt yaself.†RED chuckled, earning himself an elbow to the back of the head. “Shut up fag.†The BLU snapped. “Ya know how we’re kind of da same person?†“Yeah…†Was this going where he thought it was going? He hoped it was going where he thought it was going because goddamn was he getting horny. “Well I was thinkin’…†BLU trailed off and RED resisted the urge to prompt him onwards, he knew how he’d react to that and he was sure his other self would react in the same way (clamming the fuck up). “If we fucked…it wouldn’t be gay, would it?†He couldn’t believe his ears and he couldn’t stop the grin that broke out. It seemed great minds think alike after all (or fools seldom differ but that was another train of thought Scout halted). “Nope.†He chuckled. “Ya gettin’ bored of ya hand too?†The BLU snorted in laughter and climbed off of RED. “So how’re we gonna do dis?†Scout’s mind stalled for a moment, he really hadn’t thought it out. Although he loved how forward he was. “I have no idea, man.†The two Scouts sat there in the sand and dirt, one with his head in his hands and the other with his head on his arms. RED Scout sniffed and turned his head to stare at the BLU. “How ‘bout we start wid, ya know, kissin’?†He said, fighting back a blush as much as he could. “But that’s fuckin’ gay.†The BLU protested, earning himself RED’s best impression of the ‘disgruntled Engineer’ look. RED grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulling him towards himself and planted his lips on the BLU’s. It was awkward at first. They both tried to do the same things at the same time, the two men fighting for dominance. Eventually, RED pushed his counterpart over and into the dust with a slight ‘oomph’ and both their hands tangled in each other’s shirt, pulling and twisting and wrenching the material away from their lithe bodies. Neither of them cared when they heard an awkward ripping noise for they were both too busy pulling each other out of their clothes. RED pulled back from the sloppy kiss, scanning the body (his identical double, him!) underneath him. Is this what he looked like in the throes of passion, sweaty and flushed and preposterously gorgeous? He decided he did, seeing as the BLU underneath him was him in a roundabout way (You’re getting yourself confused again, stop that) and descended once more to lick and nibble at the other man’s neck. When the BLU suddenly arched upwards, clutching at RED’s arms, he made a note of that spot on his neck (not to use on himself) and started his way downwards, tonguing one of BLU’s nipples and occasionally dragging his teeth gently over it. Without warning he was pushed sideways, off of the BLU and straddled, but that was okay because there was now a hot, wet mouth descending on his cock and there was one in his face and it felt so damn good he didn’t care that he was grabbing it and sucking it because his legs were shaking slightly and those little groans coming from the BLU made him just that much harder. Or maybe they were his. Or maybe it just didn’t matter anymore, maybe nothing mattered anymore. Not the war, not the fact that they were technically the same person nor that they were supposed to be enemies or that he was sucking another man (himself, shut up brain, he doesn’t need this right now) off. All that mattered was that he was coming harder and faster than he ever had from the use of his hand and so was the BLU and- “Eurgh! Dat tastes rank, man!†They both shouted near simultaneously, spitting and wiping at their tongues. About a mile away, one of Snipers lowered his rifle, a curious expression on his face. “Now that’s an idea…â€
Well I'll be damned if I didn't just wake up the whole goddamn neighborhood laughing my ass off! Dat ending man! ...continue
>>7 I’m glad I have that effect on people! This one’s for Checkmate who caught my 25K kiriban on dA. Yeah, I’m still leaving you hanging with all those terrible, terrible endings. I have decided to finish them though so stay in tune. Medic/Spy guro with a hidden Spy in the background, oh how I love you forever Checkmate. --- He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The thick, cloying scent of blood would forever be caught in his clothes, the Spy decided as he stared in horror at the scene unfolding before him. It started with the two REDs –the Medic and the Spy- pushing and pulling and tugging and tearing at each other’s clothes until Spy is completely naked and Medic is left still mostly dressed. The German grabs the back of the Spy’s balaclava, more than likely catching his hair along with it and pulls back, eliciting a hiss from the man. Medic’s mouth closes over Spy’s shoulder, the Frenchman groans loudly, wantonly, and when Medic pulls back the BLU Spy can see the damage he did with those teeth he’s flashing. Nasty, sharp looking things made for piercing the skin and that’s what he’s done, the blood dripping freely down RED Spy’s back and chest. Medic pauses for a moment to lick his lips absentmindedly, tracing the delicate red lines with his other hand. The Spy has gone rigidly stiff, his erection straining and impossibly hard despite the bite in his shoulder and the Medic’s hand tangled painfully in his mask and hair. The hand down Spy’s chest was replaced by a tongue and teeth, Medic biting at the already torn skin of Spy’s shoulder until a long flake of it pulled away with Medic’s retreating head. RED Spy’s only sound was a gasping breath but his body moved almost imperceptibly forward. The German chuckled darkly, pushing Spy towards the cold, metal operating table. They must have done this a dozen times before, the BLU Spy decides, biting his gloved hand while he cowers in the shadows, cloaked- thank heavens- and will remain that way unless he moves. That is something he’s unlikely to do, even as the RED Spy straps his ankles on the table and one of his wrists while he waits for Medic to finish with whatever he’s doing with the table over the other end of the infirmary. There’s a sharp, metallic click from Medic’s end of the room and the man turns around on the heels of his jackboots, smirking sadistically. The Spy on the table shudders in what the BLU can only take as anticipation, murmuring something to the doctor when he got close, too low for him to hear. He hopes they haven’t noticed him. Medic strapped the Spy’s loose wrist down onto the table, the smirk never left his face even as he turns around to the tray he’d brought over, and in fact it had only gotten bigger. When he turns back he had two things in his hands; a scalpel and a vicious looking instrument comprised of a long handle that split in two, the end of the two prongs is tipped in a spiked wheel. RED Spy’s eyes never leave the wheels, ignoring the scalpel that is placed somewhere to the side of him. Medic attaches a wire to the base of the handle and fiddles with a dial on the box behind him, idly brushing the wheels against RED Spy’s chest as he does so. At first there’s no reaction from the Spy but a sharp twist of a dial had him arching away from the table, his loud groan of pain and pleasure made BLU Spy bite down on his bottom lip in an attempt to draw his attention away from the two REDs. It doesn’t work. Medic presses the spiked wheels harder against Spy’s chest, they pierce his skin easily, drawing a long keen from Spy as the man writhed on the table. Medic shifted his grip on the instrument, rolling it down Spy’s abdomen and down his leg. Whatever part of his body the metal spikes touched jerked and twitched involuntarily. When the spikes ran out of flesh to pierce on their journey downward, Medic flicked off the power to the device and placed it somewhere where it could easily be reached later. Now he reached for the scalpel. He locked gazes with Spy, who was still twitching periodically, and bared those too-sharp teeth in an animalistic grin. The look in Spy’s eyes pleaded for more. Scalpel still in hand, Medic placed a wet kiss on each of the holes down Spy’s torso, sometimes dipping the tip of his tongue into the little blood filled punctures. Each time he did, Spy’s muscles would tense ever so slightly, just enough for BLU Spy to notice. When the German reached the last few holes he moved away from Spy’s chest, instead he kissed the Frenchman, long and languid strokes of his tongue that spread Spy’s own blood through his mouth. Medic lifted the scalpel and ran the duller edge along the underside of Spy’s jaw and only then did he pull away from the bloody kiss. The sharpened blade split his skin easily, starting from the sternum and descended down to Spy’s pelvis. He was delicate, cutting only the skin at first before descending further and into the muscle. Spy’s insides were eventually bared to the world under a steady surgeon’s hand; the man in question was running his gloved fingers over Spy’s organs, humming to himself in content. Spy was shivering, a blissful look on his face, even if he was losing too much blood to keep his erection. With a snap that made the BLU Spy flinch, he pulled off the soiled latex gloves and threw them away. He then began divesting himself of his clothing, again with a swift, medical proficiency; there was no unnecessary fumbling or waiting. He climbed onto the table, settling in between Spy’s legs and giving a cursory glance over to his ‘patient’ before sliding a now bare hand into the hole in Spy’s torso, shifting a few things about for a second before pulling it out and used the blood lathered on his hand to slick his cock, more for his own ease of entrance than out of some twisted sense of tenderness toward the Spy on the table. He pushes in slowly, eliciting a choking groan from the RED Spy. Medic adjusts his glasses with his clean hand, panting ever so slowly as he begins thrusting into Spy. The sickly, wet squelch of Medic’s hand slipping back inside Spy’s torso had BLU Spy shutting his eyes in disgust; he’d never be able to face either man on the battlefield now without seeing that leering grin from Medic or without remembering the colours of Spy’s insides. He breathes as quietly as he possibly could, trying to keep it underneath the sound of Medic’s heavy breathing and flesh slapping against flesh. There was a gasp from Medic just before Spy gurgled and coughed, dying on the cold steel table with Medic still inside of him. BLU Spy only opened his eyes when the Medic began to speak. “Your cologne is too strong. Get out of here before I use you as my next experiment.â€
I think. I love this more than ever expected. I want to marry you.
This is wonderful. I love me some guro... The ending was perfect. Makes me shiver in antici---pation what you're going to do about that Tentaspy thing I requested...
>>10 Ohai Anon from the request thread. Working on that now actually, it's going to be part of a big finisher for those other two fics. >>9 I love you too, man. And I bloody well forgot to name the fic. Welp, it's called The Masochism Tango and it can be found on my tumblr along with various other pronz I've written and pictures of me but that's irrelevant: http://sleetfury.tumblr.com/
>>6 Holy shit, how did I miss this? Dammit, Hybrid, why must this be so delicious? I need more, now! You've rekindled the need! And so sorry it took me so long to find this! Guess I'mma hafta hover here a while.
>>12 Come, make yourself comfortable! I have tentacles, the rest of that Engie/Sniper and Snipercest coming up soon. But first the tentacles. First tentacleorgy fic, you’ll have to forgive any discrepancies. Other than that, I’m not too sure about this one, concrit may be necessary. --- Eight tentacles, one for each member of the team. It had been Medic’s idea, a way to relieve everyone’s tension and have a bit of fun at the same time. And it was Medic he focused his attentions on the most right now, the handsome German man was seated on one of the Spy’s tentacles, supported by his hands, writhing and groaning in his raspy German-accented voice. Spy thought he was an amazing man, for putting up with the team, for doing his job in such an amazing fashion, for looking divine with a tentacle up his ass. Oh he knew what his tentacles did to the members of his team; in fact, he found it hilarious when he comes across a member of his team during battle and he is covered in an enemy’s blood. Especially the Soldier. The way the man would swallow dryly and turn around, waiting for the Spy to untangle the enemy’s intestines from his clawed hands. The Soldier was a beautiful man during their ‘play-dates’. Currently, he was kneeling close to Spy’s human body, his head thrown back in utter bliss, a sheen of sweat coating his overly muscular body and one of Spy’s tentacles that had slid up in front of him was caressing every inch of skin it could touch. Sniper looked particularly delectable today, flat on his back with a tentacle pleasuring him from the inside. A particularly strong pulse swept through the tentacle, making him arch his back and groan, grasping the mattress underneath them with shaking hands. The Spy liked Sniper, not as much as his Medic, but the Australian would always visit when he could and sometimes brought food as well. He had such fascinating kinks too. Scout also had interesting ways of ‘getting off’. He was who the Spy turned to now, slipping off his gloves and sliding them into his jacket pocket to appraise the squirming boy, rutting against one of his tentacles in a frenzy. His skin was always so smooth, nearly scar-free thanks to respawn and the medigun. It was such a delight to cut too. Spy ran his hands down the boy’s back, lightly at first until he felt Scout arch against him, begging in his own wordless, breathless way for the feel of Spy’s inhuman claws digging into his skin. So Spy obliged the boy, dragging his fingernails down until red rivulets of blood trickled down Scout’s back. Somewhere behind him, Heavy was happily sucking on the tip of a tentacle, a massive hand wrapped around the base of it while he bucked and ground against the other. He wasn’t one for the penetration aspect of Spy’s games; instead, after they discovered his mouth was rather sensitive, they took to playing around with the suckers on Spy’s tentacles. It was something Heavy greatly appreciated. Pyro was an odd creature, permitting only the barest hint of skin to be shown, even during their fun. Spy in fact took great pleasure in being the only one who knew the faceless creature’s gender, even if it was only a tentacle they had inside them and the muffled noises coming from inside the mask weren’t quite as erotic as they could have been. The suit squeaked awkwardly but it wasn’t as loud as the rest of the team’s panting, grunting, whining growls of pleasure. Demoman had been the hardest to convince that their get-togethers were a good idea but then again, he’d always been against the idea of a ‘Tentaspy’. He’d been against any monsters at all, until the Spy demonstrated how useful his tentacles were in the field of battle and in the bedroom. Demo’s breath quickened as Spy curled the tentacle busy with the Scotsman around his cock, the tip brushing against his urethra just enough to make the man squirm. The Spy felt a blunt push against his mantle, somewhere to the side of him the Engineer was clutching his tentacle in one hand –the non-metal one, thank goodness- and pushing up into him ever so torturously slowly. Spy rarely permitted someone the privilege of taking him and the choice was always between the Engineer or his Medic it seemed. Both men took pleasure in the sex aspect of their…entirely professional relationship however only Medic enjoyed ‘taking it up the ass’ as Scout once so bluntly put it. A shudder ran along the length of his tentacles when Engineer began moving, wringing a few gasps or grunts of pleasure from the rest of the team and a low purr from the Spy. He noticed the Scout was close when his erratic breathing hitched and a little whine escaped from the boy’s lips. Knowing full well what made Scout tick, Spy pulled him closer with one hand –the other was busy playing with Medic- and wound the now free part of his tentacle around his neck, almost but not quite choking Scout. Medic’s vision locked onto the blood dribbling down Scout’s back, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the boy’s pale skin stained. Spy always found the doctor’s fascination with the pain of his subjects fascinating and dug his clawed fingers deeper into the Scout’s shoulder. The boy’s gasp of pain set off a chain reaction throughout the rest of the team. Medic bit down on his bottom lip, watching the Scout cum forcefully against the tentacle pressed up against his front and he came too, the inside of his ass spasming against the tentacle writhing inside of him. Spy clenched at the sensations, earning a groan and a warm, wet feeling coating his insides from the Engineer. Heavy came next, folding his lips over his teeth and clamping down on the tentacle in his mouth, sucking hard enough to wring a gasp from the Spy. Demoman and Soldier followed swiftly after, painting the deep colours of Spy’s tentacles a translucent white. The only sign of Pyro’s orgasm was a shiver that only Spy felt and their head flopping forward. With Sniper, Spy took the initiative, grabbing the man by his shoulders and pulling him into a crashing kiss, all sharp teeth and grunting. They finished together and Spy pulled away, dropping the bushman unceremoniously backwards and adjusted his balaclava. “Zat was certainly fun.†He purred, licking a bit of Scout’s blood from his hand, “Zame next week, oui?â€
Dear gods, that was beautiful. I've thought of that aspect of the Tentaspy before, but writing ensemble pieces gives me a headache. You handled it beautifully, and I shall be in my bunk.
Oh hell. Um requester here. Hi there. this. I want to say something coherent but that won't happen. This was delicious and I think I'll read it again and then maybe one more time.
>>14 >>15 I'm so glad I didn't fuck it up!
Right, I've finally decided on a way to get me off my lazy ass and write something because as much as I want to finish that Engie/Sniper with a nice bit of buttsex it just isn't happening yet. I've been toying with this idea for a while because I once offered it to 4chan's /y/ and they liked it so you can have it too. Single word prompts. Basically, you post a word and I write as much as I can using the word as inspiration. So that means there'll be fluff, porny stuff, all sorts.
Amnesia
>>18 He knew he should know the woman's face in the pictures, but there was nothing but the niggling sensation of something at the back of his skull that he should know this woman. It was like trying to remember a word that was on the tip of your tongue but you just couldn’t spit it out. Of course, with the woman in the Polaroid photos was a man. They hadn’t told him who the masked man was, was it him? Was it someone he knew? Was it someone he was supposed to hate? The man with the greying hair and piercing stare muttered something under his breath in a language he might have once understood. It clicked that it was a word the man used often, was it something he used to describe him a lot? It didn’t sound like a good word, but everything the man said in that gruff, guttural accent sounded bad. He glanced down at the photo in his hand again; the masked man and the woman he should know were bathed in evening light. Words floated just out of his grasp, words he should be able to say without thinking and emotions he didn’t quite remember the reasons for having. Anger, why? Love, again, he wondered why. Was it love for the woman in the blue dress? And what sort of love? Were they related, is that it? For some reason one of his impossible words was ‘cauliflower’. He wished he could remember why, but the word made him laugh and get very angry, all at once.
Snap. Or Subtle.
>>20 I might do subtle too. --- The crack of bone underneath his equipment was always a delight, as was the pleading cry the enemy team’s Scout shrieked to the ceiling. The Medic examined his equipment once more and tightened the weighted clamps, enough for another painful crack as the boy’s kneecaps began to shatter under the strain. Briefly, Medic entertained the idea of making the boy stand up after his ‘procedure’ and watch him crumple to the ground, but there were other things to be done with the Scout that he was certain he wouldn’t get the chance to experiment with at a later date. Their team had a habit of going for the Scouts. He’d once had a Spy on his operating table; it’d been such a fascinating insight into the human hand that he’d just had to do it again once the enemy had stocked another Spy. He realised he was getting too into his work when he began regarding the other team as a sort of shopping centre. But nevertheless, the Scout’s arm was beginning to go white from lack of blood so he cast a glance over the array of syringes he had specially prepared for this. An aphrodisiac, a muscle relaxant, a cocktail of all the leftover liquids of varying danger (that one was a nasty grey-blue colour, it almost made him giggle like a schoolgirl at the thought of what it could do), a clear fluid that he’d forgotten about (It could very well be water if it wasn’t so viscous), a synthetic form of methamphetamine he wanted to test and his own variant on morphine. But there was still the issue of Scout’s kneecaps.
Blanket. Also, why do I keep getting Russian captchas? o_0
>>22 This was about to devolve into porn and then it hit one in the morning and I thought 'fuck it'. Also, I have no clue, have some OCD Spy instead. --- The bed sheets were stained. With a snarl, Spy tore the blanket off of his bed and in a whirl of bed sheet and pinstripe suit he stormed out of the room to go confront the creator of this white, slightly crusty stain. Scout. He may have been overreacting, perhaps pulling the ruined bed sheet over the other mercenary’s head and pulling until his struggles ceased and respawn picked up the body was a tad excessive. But he’d ruined the silk sheet. To Spy, it didn’t matter if they were lovers, you just don’t ruin a man’s sheets like that. So what if he’d been gone a few days and Scout may have gotten a little lonely and more than a little randy? You just don’t do that and not clean up after yourself. Spy met the runner in respawn, slammed him against the metal lockers and pressed his face against Scout’s. “What did you zink you were doing?!†He all but spat in the Scout’s face. “What are ya talkin’ about man- seriously ya can’t just kill me like that- what the hell do ya think yer doing- I mean, fuck!†Scout spoke in a long string of sentences that Spy couldn’t care less about. The more he heard from the boy, the more he wanted to strangle him again. Pushing the silk blanket against his chest, Spy snarled his ire right in his face. “You will clean it properly and zen I will show you how to avoid situations such as zese again.†Scout looked down at the blanket and visibly swallowed. “Uh, yeah, sure man.†Not an hour later, Spy was leaning against one of the outside walls of their base, puffing away like a chimney on a cigarette when Scout found him, carrying a neatly folded and ultimately clean bed sheet. “Here man.†He muttered, shoving the blanket at Spy. “Now Hardhat probably thinks I’m a fag or somethin’.†Spy took a long drag on his cigarette before he took the blanket from Scout. “Merci, petit. Now, shall we do somezing about zat lesson I owe you?†He didn’t mention how Scout qualified –and surpassed the basic necessities- for being well and truly gay. Instead, he grasped the boy’s hand and began pulling him along the corridors of the base, stopping only for a moment to stick the bed sheet into his own room before carrying on to Scout’s own room. The boy was visibly flushed when he was tugged inside, more than noticeably horny and staring with half lidded eyes at Spy. Spy smirked. And threw his ratty old jacket at Scout. “Next time you are feeling lonely, use zat instead of my new bed sheets.â€
I suggest 'lollop' (that was dictionary.com's word of the day).
Rabies
'Favor'
Whooo, ‘chan is back! Based on LightSwitchRave (BlahStudios)’s newest video, Toy Soldiers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fqHTVSK8_8 Warnings include massive emo. --- They hadn’t meant for it to happen the way it did. The sudden rush of Soldiers onto the battlefield was too much for them, especially Scout who, despite his brash nature and over the top personality was surprisingly brave when faced with his immediate demise. He’d grabbed Demoman’s bandolier and a bottle of scrumpy and ran as fast as his powerful legs could carry him towards the onward flow of angry Americans. He’d taken most of them out with him and injured the rest, laughing around the neck of his bottle the whole way, even with one arm. Spy bid a fond farewell to the opposing side’s Scout’s mother, who, unbeknownst to the rest of the team had died a long time ago. He’d never had the heart to dispose of the photos. Tucking the photo into his breast pocket, the Spy checked the bullets inside his Ambassador; he’d never planned to come out of this insane campaign alive but damn if he wasn’t taking his enemies out with him. The war had lasted for years, Medic had seen teammates come and go. A careless Sniper backstabbed here, a Soldier who rocketjumped far too much for his own good there. An Engineer that relied too much on his machinery – â€Don’t worry about it Doc, these little ladies have got my back.†He’d say. –Heavies with more brawn than brains. Overconfident Pyros and Scouts. He’d learnt not to get attached to them after a while, but when his current team actually started listening to the old vet, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride every time they’d come back to base, carrying intel, clambering off of captured points, bruised and battered and worse for wear but not dead. He’d never expected a Spy to sneak in during an apparent ceasefire. It wasn’t supposed to happen and he was unprepared. His dying thought was of his team members, hoping they’d see through the Spy’s disguise. It had been a shame, slowly watching his friends die through worse and worse ways. Started in the night with Medic, his neck broken by a bastard Spy. Sniper had retreated into his nest, back against the wall at first but as time ticked on and the Spy hadn’t shown up he’d grown slightly complacent and when the warning went that the other team was attacking, well, he couldn’t sit around doing nothing and did his job to the best of his ability. His hands shook as he spun to see Scout take out a squad of Soldiers on his own, he should’ve been more on his game, he should’ve seen them pouring out of the enemy base and been less interested in taking out the Heavy standing on a hill, his tiny little head a prime target. Briefly he wondered how the other team had gotten so many Soldiers in but a creak in the floorboards alerted him to the presence creeping up behind him. He’d fought the best he could, but memories of Medic’s limp body kept flashing through his head and when he finally felt the Spy’s blade pierce his back, he thought nothing of the pain but of seeing his friends again, even if they ended up in some hellish afterlife it’d be a little more tolerable with them. Engineer’s last stand took place on top of a hill, a mile away from the bases. He’d driven out when he’d discovered he was the last one left, a truck full of metal, his trusty wrench and guitar, set up shop on his tool box with a crate of beers next to him. He was either going to oblivion drunk or sober, but one way or another he knew he was going down. His Sentries could only last for so long before they ran out of bullets or rockets or a Spy got one. A level one sat by his side, faithfully beeping as he kicked another gib into its line of sight and the counter ticked up by one as a rocket went off somewhere to his left, a grunt of pain from some unknown enemy made him smile. The counter was quite a fine piece of work, made on the fly with the leftovers. He’d make sure the ones controlling this farce new how many of their precious cannon fodder he’d taken down that day. One of the Sentries fizzled and cracked, a deadly looking box full of wires and intricacies forced her down. But Engineer didn’t move, he faced his foe with a serene smile on his face and a tune on his fingers. The Spy whispered one last goodbye before he finished it for good, at least until the next time the higher-ups became bored.
Dude you are the bomb, is your steam ID the same as your chan name? We should hang out some time.
>>27 This is amazing. Sad, but amazing. I would namefag for you my tentacle porn request-writing god.
>>28 Heh, nah, it's SleetFury, the username I use for everything that isn't the 'chans. 29 You should, and come up with more requests that make me go "FFFFF- now I have to do that".
> You should, and come up with more requests that make me go "FFFFF- now I have to do that". I might be able to think of a few. Ever since I did that ScoutMa/You thing, I sort of like her. Maybe something with that. *gets to the drawing board*
>>31 I have never done anything het/lesbian before but I am willing to give it a shot if you can give me a prompt?
Hm. Well here's a few ideas I've had. The porny ones. 1. Medic dissects a Tentaspy. (May have been over 10 years ago, but I can remember dissecting a Squid in Grade 6 or 7) 2. ScoutMa and Mrs. Medic have a discussion about the virtues of Spy and Demo and eventually decide they'd much rather have eachother. Said men watch. Bonus points for Scout being traumatized by the event. 3. Heavy, Engineer and Medic have a 3-way, all founded upon a mutual discussion of Gradschool. Engineer and Medic rip on Heavy for being an arts student, Heavy and Medic rip on Engineer for fixing all his problems with duct tape and WD 40 (First law of Engineering, amirite?!) and Heavy rips on the both of them for having no imagination and possibly also having to translate things in ancient languages for medical students (*cough*guesshowimademoneylastyear*cough*) 4. The Chieftain's Challenge is really indicative of Soldiers 1/16th Native American Heritage. Secretly he takes a very stereotypical viewpoint on this and is a New Age Healer sort. Stuff happens. Pervy stuff.
>>33 Crap, I don't know which one to give a shot first.
>>34 I'll help with that by voting on number 4!
>>33 I do believe I would cry tears of extreme joy if the third were to come into existence. I'd be completely happy with any of them, but in particular I've been dying to read something to do with the whole grad school topic.
>>36 HA. That was my favorite too. PhdComics ftw much? I am probably disturbed for having fantasies about a morning when Heavy and Engineer are in the kitchen and Engineer asks Heavy why Lit majors never ask about the weather in the mornings- the joke is "they need something to do in the afternoons". My landlord/lady are retired professors themselves and they tease me mightily about being an arts student, but I know that most med students know fuck all about latin, nordic and well, pretty well most germanic and romantic languages and that's my thesis. I can only imagine that the Medic/Heavy combination could carry over unbelievably well not-on-the-battlefield-but-definitely-strategy-and-hey-cool-bedroom-as-well dept. Also...fellow gradstudent? *shy wave* I enjoy the opportunity to talk.
>>36 >>37 I will quite willingly give it a go if you yanks will help me out here and tell me what the equivalent of grad school is over here in Limey Land.
I'm technically a Canuck, but we've the same system as the U.S., so it counts. Over here, you go to school like this. From Age 5-Age 18 (sometimes 17, sometimes 19. Depends on when your birthday is)= regular, pretty much mandatory education. The most basic an education can get. You can't get much work without graduating high school, and if you do get work, it's usually at like McDonalds, or some other menial job with little room for improvement. Next level up from a high school degree would be University (I'm not counting community college, since it doesn't count in this string of events). First, you get your Bachelor's Degree. You can get them in Arts, Fine Arts, Science, Business, all sorts of things. They usually take about 4 years to get. After obtaining a Bachelor's Degree, you go to grad school for a Master's Degree. If you have a Bachelor of Arts, you get a Master of Arts after that. Then after that, you can keep going to grad school, and you get a Ph.D. Then you basically become a Doctor of the Arts (or whatever area of degree you have). So, while I can't give you the actual equivalent, I hope you can figure it out from the information I have provided.
>>39 One difference between American and Canadian higher institutions is that Canadians still care about the technical difference between "University" and "college" while the majority of Americans use the word "college" as a blanket term for all 4-year degree-granting institutions (universities, private colleges, etc.) Community college is sometimes called Jr. College to differentiate between the two.
>>38 OMG EEEE. And also >>39 BIGGER EEE. You both just won 40 billion internets for being a crazy awesome author and living within a reasonable distance and 39 is a Canuckistan. (self is a Canuck at U of Glasgow actually.) And and very willing to help with the Canadian system. All said I'm probably better off with the UK system
>>41 That's a lot of internets. I think I'll go with the UK system because it's easier for me to get my head round. (I am down in Cambridge myself.)
>>42 EWW. TAB IN THE THREAD. Go to a real uni, peasant. I kid, I kid. I am, however, ludicrously excited at the thought of HE porn (and that is something I never thought I'd type). There is literally no way this could possibly go wrong.
>>43 There are many ways it could go wrong, such as me writing drunk again or my HDD crashing. But I will try to make this good because I know everyone is pining for it.
....wow. Was so not expecting to inspire Uni wars. Goodness Ash, Namefagging did this? Cool. Do I get to say that considering my Advisor was a Cambridge grad and he tried to make me go there and um I've sort of heard it is one of the best places in the world for Chaucer studies. Actually in a less lol I namefagged point I am so ungodly excited about PhD porn.
>>45 The Oxford/Cambridge thing is less of a war and more of an 800-year old feud. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have Cambridge. They're the LITEBLU to our DARKBLU. Wouldn't be no fun without them. Also, you know, the Boat Race would be pretty pointless, and the Blues crews might have to actually work on their degree or something. And that would just be too much.
I am still excited about the fact that I brought about Academic posturing. I'm only a second year PhD Student so I am probably less qualified to make noises about how awesome I am. However I can actually help on the USA grad student front since I applied to UofAustin (Prestigious for Medieval Studies.) The USA is infamous for liking their standardized tests. PSAT, SAT's and in the case of Grads, GRE. I honestly don't know which version is applicable to Engineering students. I took the one for English students. To put that into context of the fic I suggested, there is probably an amazing argument with Engineer dicussing the merits of standardized testing with Heavy and Medic.
This fic is going to be the death of me.
>>47 And I'm only a 2nd year maths undergrad! I'm just patriotic. >>48 Oh pshah. You'll do a fab job, I'm sure! And if it is the death of you, it is a GLORIOUS WAY TO GO.
>>49 OH REALLY. JUST A SECOND YEAR MATHS UNDERGRAD? Oh see my sad face. >>48 Also, much sad face. Also agree with anon that you will do just fine and if you die in the process it will be for a good cause. I am enjoying academic TF2 chan waaaaay more than I ought to be. while we are all here I have another suggestion. Reasonably TF2-y So if you'll allow me to be long winded for a tick: Yours truly plays paintball. Competitively. I am what you might call a 'Sniper' in so much as one might be able to 'snipe' in paintball. However I am a very small person and one day our front was feeling unwell. I was asked if I could fill in. (Front would be more like your Scout) However I swear to GOD my fronting is like a wicked curse. The first time I fronted I skidded across grass and ripped open my knees. The second time I pretty well lived in my room being so sore I couldn't move. Recently the British hospital system called my school to tell them I couldn't walk properly. This NEVER happens when I play back. The stupid thing is I enjoy playing front? But this girl I know who plays on our Speedball team is just brilliant when it comes to fixing injuries. She's a pro masseuse. Okay so there's the longwinded storytime which prolly makes the request seem lame by comparison. So. The idea is thus: Scout injures himself spectacularly on the battlefield. Nothing broken but he's obviously wounded. Horrible skinned knees to the awful point where putting on a pair of trousers is evil and hurty, wrenching pain from doing something as simple as moving his leg. He thus goes to Medic who sends him off to Sniper who is fucking brilliant in the art of massage. This leads to sexy times
>>50 That sad face better be SO DAMN SAD. Like, sad squared or something. E to the power sad. I wish I played paintball. Or laser tag. Or dart tag. Or anything that I could twist into TF2 LARP. I would be so bad at it, but my friends would be just as bad so it would just be epic. Also, scroll down this board for almost exactly that idea except with less Sniper and more Heavy? I should probably get out of Hybrid's thread...
>>50 Shit guys this'll probably get done first because I do love me some abused Scout. That and I'm a giant Sniperfag. >>51 Well don't leave the thread, just don't derail it beyond belief?
More Scout-Sniper sexy times are always loved. (Also, I think I fail most in terms of education. 4th Year of my BA in English with Drama Concentration. Yeah. Loads of work to be found in this field. Hehe.) >>40 So THAT'S what a Jr. College is. Thank you. I had no idea what phrase the USA used for them. Now I do, and I am glad.
I was working on things, such as some late Valentines shit, a commission and another art for fic trade and then the facebook roleplay happened. Have some psychotic Medic, psychotic Tentamedic and was-a-Tentaspy-then-he-wasn't-now-he-is-again Spy. Is this even allowed to go in here I don't know, I don't want to make a useless single post thread over in roleplay. --- It had been a while since he’d flayed someone’s flesh from their bones. With some difficulty Korbinian and Daniel had managed to capture the struggling Spy again and pin him down to the metal operating table, the leather manacles biting into his skin as he kicked and screamed in an attempt to get loose. Daniel prepared a sedative drip feed while the human Medic laid out his instruments, checking the sharpness of the blades before he turned back to Guilleme. The poor Spy looked like he was about to cry. “Don’t do zhees to me again, S'il te plaît.†Korbinian could have mistaken it for begging if he didn’t know the Spy so well. No, he still had his pride. The first prick of the intravenous drip made Guilleme flinch. He knew that feeling, could remember it from the hazy days spent on a cold metal table, just like this one as a similar bustle of similar people performed the same operation. It wasn’t just the same operation though; it was the same doctors, only more experienced, older. This time they knew what they were doing, even if their horrid grins were the same. Daniel let one of his own tentacles stroke the Spy’s cheek as his movements became less and less lucid. They only had so long to perform the operation, if they took longer than twenty four hours to remove and graft the new set of legs and he died, respawn would save his ‘work in progress’ state and he’d respawn, or at least half of him would. With the powerful sedative in his system, Guilleme couldn’t kick, couldn’t shout, couldn’t stop Daniel from undoing the clasps on his legs as Korbinian set the scalpel against his hips. He’d feel this. Oh how he’d feel this.
>>54 ...you make me so very happy.
Good news and horrid news. Good news I've started on the Heavy/Engineer/Medic fic and it's going pretty well, bad news; my laptop is well and truly buggered. The chargers connection is fucked and until I get it fixed I won't be able to do anything properly, in fact I'm posting this off my phone.
I hope this isn't horrid. For Lions, who is contributing to the death of me (this particular fic jumps between days where I write until two in the morning which means I don’t wake up until about noon) and of course for Checkmate who is a constant source of laughs. (Hey, hey, Checkmate “KONNICHIWA DESU ^3^â€) --- “Yo dickwad, I bet’cha can’t hit RED Snipes wit’ yer ball.†The older, slightly more experienced Scout raised an eyebrow. “If I get ‘im, ya have t’ suck me off.†That made the other Scout- slightly shorter, slightly thinner, and definitely younger- pause for a moment, then grin. “Sure, but ya have ta throw from ‘ere.†The younger was cocky, didn’t think it was possible to throw a ball the distance between the two bases and actually land a hit on the overly paranoid Sniper. He was proved wrong however, when the next moment he was being dragged across the battlements, fleeing from the RED’s dot sight and laughing hysterically. He was pulled further, down the stairs, past the intel room where a beeping Sentry watched them run past, into the mostly unused resupply and only then shoved into one of the cupboards. The older Scout followed closely behind, tugging the chord for the light and shutting the door. What could only be described as an evil grin greeted the younger Scout when he’d recovered from the pushed-into-a-closet shock. “I got th’ Sniper. Now ya suck me off,†he said, grabbing hold of the other’s shirt and pushing him onto his knees. He swore as he was pushed down and pulled the hands away from his shirt. “Yea’ yea’, whatever man.†He set his jaw, determined not to let his apprehension show. He wasn’t gay, he highly doubted the other Scout was either, but your own hand became boring after a while… he fumbled with the belt buckle in front of him and eventually tugged the other Scout’s trousers down to his ankles. Glancing up, the taller Scout looked particularly smug, his hands behind his head as he took a seat on a lone shipping crate. Awkwardly, the younger Scout stared at the bulge in the boxers in front of him, the daunting task ahead sparking more than a little bit of apprehension. “Well? What’re ya waitin’ for mang?†He took a few deep breaths; a bet was a bet, if he chickened out now he’d be teased relentlessly. Steeling himself, he tugged the boxers down (dickinmyfacedickinmyfaceohshitthere’sadickinmyface) and only then considered how he was going to do this. The Scout stared in apprehension at the stiff cock in front of him, grinding his teeth, when a hand descended on his head and pushed him forward. Tentatively, he stuck his tongue out and licked the head, eliciting a quiet groan from the Scout above him and that gave him such a heady rush of power knowing he had control over whether or not the taller Scout would get a blowjob today that he did it again, a longer, broader and ultimately more confident stroke. There was another groan and the Scout was getting used to the taste of another man’s skin, so this time he started at the base of his cock, dragging his tongue all the way up it and over the head. He tried to recoil away from the sudden shock of the salty, slightly bitter taste of precum but the hand that remained pressed against the back of his head pushed him forward again. The Scout took another deep breath and was about to lean forward again when the hand tightened in his hair, the other’s face was suddenly a whole lot closer. “Suck it bitch.†He tried to make a noise of protest, but the moment his mouth was open, the thick flesh was pushed in, far enough back to make him gag. Determined to see this through to the end, he pushed the hand away, enough to rid himself of the awkward nudge of the head of the other Scout’s cock against the back of his throat. Although he’d never admit it, the younger Scout was a virgin; he had no experience with this sort of thing, what felt good and what didn’t, unless it was wanking. What healthy Scout didn’t know about that? He licked the head again, wrapping his hand around the base and giving it an experimental tug. The other Scout grunted, his hips jerking slightly. Glad he was getting some sort of response, he did it again, licking at the cock in front of him as if it was some sort of lolly pop. Saliva begun to dribble down it, pooling on his hand and soaking into the wraps, making him let go so he could shake some of the disgusting stuff off. Above him, the other Scout cried out in protest, grabbing his hair again. “Awrigh’ awrigh’! Get off my fuckin’ hair, fag!†He slapped at the hand again before returning to what he was doing before. He seemed to be doing something right, the taller Scout making tiny needy noises, a hand resting –not pushing, thank fuck- on his head as he sucked and licked with all the limited skill he could call on. He didn’t notice the light shudder that ran down the other’s body, although he did notice the hand tighten. He was about to protest when his head was pushed forward, hot jets of the other Scout’s cum hitting the roof of his mouth and he pulled away, soon enough to get a splash on his cheek. Too shocked and disgusted to do anything about the ejaculate pooled in his mouth, he can only watch the other begin to chuckle and then laugh out loud. “That’s a good look for you man!†He said, attempting to bite back the rest of his laughter. A flash of inspiration hit the slightly dumbstruck Scout, started by a single thought of ’He wouldn’t be laughing if he was down here’. He stood, the other not even bothering to question him until he was standing above him, pressing a knee into his leg and getting closer until they were almost –but not quite- touching. The smaller Scout jabbed a thumb into his slightly open mouth, pulling apart his jaws and planting his lips on the others. A small, angry noise was quickly replaced by an even louder one, accompanied by thrashing when the salty-bitter liquid was drizzled unceremoniously into his mouth, his tongue trying to fight off the brief flow until it was attacked by the other’s and it quickly became another battle. Neither was willing to give up, glaring at each other as their tongues fought, neither willing to risk being called ‘chicken’. The taste began to dissipate and they pulled away at the same time, gasping for breath and retching theatrically. They shot each other a dirty look. No one mentions this.
Damn, that was hot. Love how snowballing became just another power game for them.
>>57 No, Hybrid I haven't seen this yet - and I was waiting and hoping you'd write this too! Oh man, I'm pretty damn happy to find this now! God damn this is so hot. SO HOT. I agree with Anon no.58, I totally dig snowballing power-struggles. hahaa... Thank you for writing this!!!
>>58 >>59 Oh good! I was starting to worry it was utter crap. Thank you both!
into the mostly unused resupply hrrrrng i was just playing 2fort and ran past that room and was like "why is this here". and now i know: the map-accurate descriptions are my favorite part
>>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. --- 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’?†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.†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?†“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.†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.†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.
>>62 I made this prompt, and I just wanna say: Thank you so fucking much. It's perfect. I'm going to read this every Valentine's Day now.
So I stopped playing Pokemon long enough to write something for Lions' birthday. It isn't big enough to deserve it's own thread so IT'S IN HERE AGAIN. Happy old forever day Lions! (Oh yeah, early warning, this is a bit of a textwall.) --- Bedclothes were unnecessary. They always ended up on the floor early on during the boy's trysts. The two were a rolling mass of sweat slicked skin and borderline pain, panting breath and lust fuelled heartbeats. The room quite simply stunk of sex. It was heady and settled like a wall in the air. One bit the other's lip, blunt fingernails dug into his skin enough to bring up bright red welts in retaliation and somewhere along the line someone got punched. Purpling bruises blossomed on their arms and sides where the indentation of teeth cut into their skin. Both were grinning, calling insults and grunting with pleasure as wrapped hands touch everywhere at once. One ends up on top and pins his near identical counterpart to the bed with trembling hands. They shake with adrenaline and lust, not fear or apprehension. They've both done this more times than they care to count, the scratchy bedsheets under them familiar enough that just touching them sparks memories. Legs are jerked into position roughly, another bruise to count later and the one on the bottom cries out. He bites back louder noises as the one on the top jeers breathless insults at his cry. His hands wrap around the other’s neck and flatten out on his back. A jerky movement and those tense fingers curl, digging into skin and pulling in time with the push of hips behind him. A cacophony of noise makes it impossible to disguise what they're doing; the clinking of dog tags, the pleasure-pain cries mixing with loud grunts and sighs. They're both very vocal people. The one on top braces himself and grabs the other's thighs. More loud noises echo around the room and the bottom cries out again, arching his back to the heavens as he comes. This leaves the other to find his own pleasure within the body of his exhausted partner. His hips snap forward at near random intervals, fire coursing through his veins until he reaches completion and drops his head onto the other's chest. The Scout's chuckle weakly, red flush of exertion slowly fading from their bodies. Neither can find the energy to move nor do they care.
And if you can't stand that version, there's another here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/220734
>>64 Oh god. Hybrid, getting angry scout porn is the best present ever. And fuck yeah vocal sex~ THANK YOU SO MUCH. We should do a collaboration one of these days.
>>66 I'm so glad you like it! Hehe we should, that would be amazing.
Whoa ! I had no idea what these awesome things were hidden in this thread!
I had someone shout a prompt at me over Twitter. --- Soft leather, not tight enough to choke but tight enough to remind Spy it was there against the bare flesh of his neck. The leash attaching him to his lover was pulled taunt; the flimsy material of his mask was rolled onto the bridge of his nose where thin fibres tickled. Dirty bushman. That’s what he always called him wasn’t it? A filthy Australian that peed in jars and lived in a camper van. Call me Mundy. The name fit him, especially when it was purred in an ear. Mr. Mundy… That filthy, beautiful Australian cock was buried inside him. Inches of twitching flesh pounding inside him, moving in a rhythm only Sniper and Spy could hear. Sniper twisted another handful of leash around his hand and pulled, bringing Spy up onto his knees. His teeth fastened on the flesh of the Frenchman’s shoulder. He wouldn’t pierce the skin, not yet. Those sharp teeth sent flashes of white through the back of Spy’s eyes. He fancied he could feel every ridge and bump along those beautifully misshapen teeth. Spy felt sick and overjoyed and dizzy all at once and every thrust inside him brought those white flashes closer and closer together until his vision was just one big blinding light and he couldn’t breathe. The white flashes became grey fuzz. His pinprick vision turned monochrome. Sniper’s teeth broke skin but he couldn’t feel it; not the dull trickle down his chest and into the black hair that peppered it, not the way Sniper’s breath became laboured against the back of his neck or the way it disturbed the fine wisps of hair there. Splintered wood scraped under his already bloody fingernails (when had he been pushed forward again?) and suddenly Spy could breathe again. Life returned to his system, pounding heart desperately pushing oxygenated blood as far and as fast as it could. It followed that silent rhythm. Only with a sense of quiet completion was Spy allowed to fall to the floor, strength sapped from his wiry limbs. Behind him, Sniper reclined and heaved himself onto the ratty mess of a bed- the only comfortable thing in the room- before poking Spy with the tip of a toe. Spy turned his head enough to give the (filthy) bushman a look. It spoke volumes in minute detail, pages as thin as a hair’s breadth. And Sniper skim read every single one of them, somehow managing to miss every important crucial little plot developing detail. Spy was not amused. He was even less amused when Sniper called him a good dog. He pushed to his tingling feet and unbuckled that soft leather collar, tossed it carelessly at Sniper and rolled his mask down. He lit a cigarette and sat next to the Australian to watch the tendrils of smoke caress the ceiling. Sniper took one of them too and they lapsed into soft silence, waiting for the feeling to come back to Spy’s legs.
That was incredibly short, but incredibly hot.
Oh. Yes. Oh yes. >>69 Thank you. That was a little gem of naughtiness, and I will probably wind up re-reading it several times, because shoulder biting and a leather collar-and-leash? Yes please.
Everything here is pure gold. I hope you finish that Engie/Sniper and Snipercest.
This post has been deleted.
I don't know how anatomy so bear with me. Quick drabbly oneshot for Owlymedics/Fluro whatever ya wanna call her. --- Eight tentacles. The suckers were a pale blue, a little lighter than the underside and much lighter than the almost scaled tops. A sucker attached to Medic’s thumb, still strong despite the heavy anaesthetic he’d been placed under. With a deft flick of his hand, Medic sliced the sucker off and placed it on a tray to the side of the table. A thin dribble of blue blood leaked from the wound he’d made. The Spy that was strapped to the table groaned weakly, his eyes rolling to stare weakly at the ceiling. How fascinating. The anaesthesia and muscle relaxants didn’t quite have an adverse effect, but instead spread along his body instead of staying in the tentacles. Medic had expected the Spy to have an allergic reaction, or something of the sort. Slowly, he dragged his scalpel into the thick muscle of the tentacle he held in his hand. It parted with a wet noise and revealed layers of impressively thick and blue strings of skeletal muscle. He wondered where it was anchored, as it wasn’t attached to a skeletal structure like that of a human. Determined to find out, he dug the scalpel into Spy’s hip and watched the blood dribble down his torso and tentacles.
I just wanted to say, I lvoe all of these! My personal favorite has to be the Valentine one, though. Wouldn't mind seeing some more Pyro, though, if you dont mind a silly anon's request.
I got drunk and asked Miss M to shoot me a prompt. It's only a teeny tiny one because my drunk is wearing off and I can't think in a straight line, let alone walk in one. Have some Helmetparty. --- The panties were pink, with lace where lace was not supposed to go. Thin, too. They only covered enough to be nearly decent, with obscene little swirls of flowery pattern on them. Engineer wore them like he would any other piece of clothing. They fit him perfectly, as if they just blended in with the curves that Engineer sported like a well fitted dress. Every time he wore them, Soldier would feel his blood rush to lower places too quickly for it to be healthy. Sometimes, when Engineer and Soldier were alone in the workshop, he’d see a little flash of pink too quickly for it to be intentional. It would be when Engineer leant over to get something, or when he’d fold his overalls down after a long day at work. He didn’t need to wear anything underneath the overalls, except for a shirt, and because of this they’d sometimes slip a little too far down. When this happened, Soldier knew it only did because he was around. Engineer wore those panties for him.