1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-07-15 19:31

Among many of the so-called benefits that came with being employed by RED was the complete lack of surprise you developed over time to the weird, the bizarre, and the downright *surreal*. You didn’t even have to work for the company very long for total desensitization to take effect; if you weren’t the type of person who cracked easily under the strain of pressure, you could find yourself getting into the swing of things very quickly when you saw what consisted of common place, day-to-day routine around a base where every other day consisted of stealing briefcases from BLU’s compounds and systematically capturing their points to claim as RED’s, and the tamest arguments to come from the group that lived within it consisted of squabbles over who touched who’s weapon or who ate the last sandvich hidden so cunningly in the back of the minifridge.

Heavy could say that his heart, when it was not held high in the heart of glorious, never-ending war, laid with the aforementioned squabbles, which spoke volumes of his tolerance. Could he handle BLUs from all sides coming at him guns-a-blazing without a teammate to help in sight? Certainly. But that was different. BLU was the enemy, the target at the end of his sights that his gun had to be trained on at all times. The same didn’t extend to the rest of RED. Like it or not, that band of ridiculous, petty children was his team. And teammates didn’t knock other teammates out and strap them to operating tables.

That was just stupid.

When Heavy came to after what felt like a good several hours (or could it have been less…?), he felt as if he had gone a losing round with a payload cart and that said cart had decided to run over a very specific *lower* part of his body just to rub its victory in. His eyelids were glued down with sleep-grit, and his sight was blurry and fuzzy, making his surroundings look like a melted gray mess. They were unmistakable, those colors; cold and metal and, intermixed with the gray, clinically white – the kind of colors that reminded him of Medic’s private quarters. In fact, that was where he was sure he was at. Under the strong smell of rubbing alcohol and antiseptics was a lingering, darker one of copper and sickly sweet sweat, one that he had come to know very well.

“Doktor?” His own voice, strangely warbling in his own ears, was distressingly weak and questioning. He didn’t like that at all. Teammate or not, someone had caught him at a disadvantage here and he decided at once that he didn’t like that; he didn’t quite like it at all. If Scout was behind this, he’d make sure to break a pinky or two before considering it even, and only because the boy was so cunning enough to sneak up on him.

No one answered. Heavy tried to lift one mammoth hand only to feel a sharp twang in his wrist followed by the rough texture of leather rubbing against it. Tried shifting a foot and the same thing happened. He didn’t have to look to the side to know that he had been bound with wrist and ankle cuffs, and that too was puzzling. Medic had those outfitted to his tables, but he couldn’t even recall them being used when the doctor operated, especially on Heavy who he expected to stay still as he examined him. That wasn’t good either and, with a violent but rather sluggish jerk, Heavy flexed his left bicep and tried pulling again. His arm roared in dull protest and fell back down to the metal of the table, smarting.

From somewhere behind and yet all around him, a rich chuckle emitted from the darkness.

“Trial und error, mein freund. You already tried zat, so it vould be in your best interests not to attempt it again.”

- A familiar and decidedly welcome voice, at that. And so was the noise Heavy heard as the voice continued – boot heels rapping against a linoleum floor.

“Vouldn’t vant you to pull one of those strong muscles, after all.”

“Doktor!” Heavy broke into a lopsided – but relieved! – grin, exhaling air. Relief flooded throughout him. He wouldn’t mind breaking one of Scout’s fingers, but Medic was a different story altogether. He could deal with that in good humor. “For minute there, I thought you were –“

He stopped short, relief still hanging over him, but it was replaced with a new sensation as soon as the middle-aged man drifted into view. Even with his bad vision that was improving steadily by the second, Heavy still would have made out Medic’s basic figure, mostly due to the ever-present while lab coat he wore. It was his trademark, it and his glasses. What the Russian expected to see was that white outline, faint and blurry like some sort of bad-tempered spirit. What he saw instead was not that pristine whiteness, but instead, charcoal. Blacker-than-black darkness, peppered here and there with silver little twinkles and white trimming that did little to distract from the inky, consuming black of whatever he was wearing.

Heavy blinked and his eyes sharpened. Surprise and not-quite disapproval coursed through him.

“Doktor! What are you doing with that on?!”

And as if he had expecting such a question, Medic smiled a self-aware, crooked little smile. Did a hit a raw nerve? that smile said without saying anything at all.

“Ah, vell, you know. Change of pace, I suppose.” In a gesture that was a little bit demure and obviously intended to be apologetic despite nothing about his expression looking regretful at all, Medic adjusted the cuff-links on one black sleeve, then self-consciously tucked a strand of hair that frazzled out from the brim of his Schutzstaffel officer cap. “After vearing vhite for so long, one feels the need for variety. I’m sure you know the feeling, mein freund. You do have several pairs of gloves, after all.”

“Doktor…” Heavy spoke lowly, disappointed like a mother one step away from wagging a finger at her misbehaving child. “You know how inappropriate that is! What if rest of team –“

“- Saw?” Medic finished for him, then gave in and tittered. “Come now, you’re being paranoid! They know vell by now not to intrude. Ve aren’t children that need to be policed. I have ein right to mein privacy…”

The doctor moved closer, almost seeming to glide, and tucked one finger under Heavy’s chin. He was even wearing leather gloves; the fine, expensive kind that Heavy was used to seeing on the hands of high-ranked officers and men of ill repute. The stouter man opened his maw to ask his question again, even louder, but Medic raised one hand to silence him.

“Just as I have ein right to be decadent, if only for the night. This ist ein special occasion, after all. And special occasions should be celebrated to their fullest. I dressed for the occasion.” And here, the man’s pale blue eyes wandered downwards, almost comically. “You, on the other hand…”

Heavy’s mouth was already a thin line across his face, but the crevice deepened as he followed Medic’s gaze, almost down to the floor.

Almost.

It was a little hard, what with all that pale, pinkish flesh and stout, bare muscle that almost appeared to rise up just to meet his gaze the moment he looked down. And he didn’t have to look far - no wonder it was chilly.

Heavy’s cheeks didn’t burn when he saw that he wasn’t wearing any pants – what man, especially a man like him, should be ashamed of their own body – but it did serve to add to his mounting confusion; and in turn, that confusion was turning to something very unpleasant that he didn’t want to associate with Medic at all. He glanced back up at the doctor, who was smiling that strange, condescending smirk that made the hairs on the back of Heavy’s neck prickle.

“You didn’t dress for the occasion at all. But that’s just fine – it saves us so much time. I don’t expect the rest of them to stay occupied for very long up there. There never ist enough alcohol to go around when Demoman is in the same room.”

Turning his back to the stunned Heavy, Medic briskly walked to the small metal box on the far end of the room, an object Heavy identified almost immediately as his fridge where he kept all of his perishable medical supplies…and specimens. He spoke as he opened the door, bending over and giving the Russian a spectacular impression that the trousers he was wearing were rather…tight. He was humming a song – no doubt a German one – until he straightened back up, holding a very large petri dish in both hands, the contents of which Heavy could not see even when he turned around.

“Barely days after I – ah, excuse me, liebling, ve – achieved our first breakthrough vith the instantaneous regeneration of dying tissue accelerated at an astounding rate, I began to theorize that there was more to the heart I transplanted into you than I initially thought,” Medic began, speaking a mile a minute as he neared the table. Heavy squinted at the thing in the petri dish, tilting his head curiously at how lumpy and – and huge it was. Both ends dangled from the ends of the dish and sagged, making it look like some tremendous sausage. Adding to the impression was its impressive thickness, giving it an exceedingly meaty quality that Heavy could only associate with…well, meat.

“You see…” Medic’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial volume. “You were the only one who received that particular variety. The others, they received simple gorilla hearts. Their circulatory systems vould not be able to handle ein mega baboon’s heart; don’t get the wrong impression, I vould have loved to see the results und study them – it vould have been ein bloodbath! – but importing these parts ist extremely costly. If I vere to do it, I vould need to make sure that every bit counted.

“I did not think I vould need to order anymore, but a few days ago, ein bolt of inspiration hit me. As you know, thanks to the transplant, your performance on the battlefield has been astounding to say the least, liebling. Vhy, the shape you’re in combined vith the strength you’ve been exhibiting ist comparable to ten healthy baboons! Very, very impressive.”

He paused for effect, then gingerly placed the petri dish on the farthest end of the operating table where Heavy wouldn’t be able to knock it over. The meaty bulge inside jiggled.

Turning his attention back on Heavy, Medic’s lips spread to reveal his perfect white teeth. He looked quite like a shark in that instant – a predator.

“So…I came up with a theory – if just one transplant could have that sort of major effect to the body, vhat would multiple ones have? How vould your overall performance und dexterity improve in turn, hm?”

Casually, almost nonchalantly, Medic’s hand drifted towards Heavy’s exposed member. Heavy’s penis, if he did say so himself, was a sight to behold in another man’s hand, gloved or not. It was thick and long enough to work with both hands, which Medic took turns with doing as he alternated between them, rubbing sensually along the shaft. The leather was such a nice touch, literally, it was so smooth and velvety, just like the German’s heavily accented voice.

“Did you know,” He said, huskily and so full of desire for the bulge he caressed in his gentle surgeon’s hands. “Ein full-grown adult baboon can maintain an erection for four to six hours? They’re very potent creatures. Their endurance ist something that ve humans should strive for, in the middle of battle…” He flexed his index finger, running it over Heavy’s balls and then wiggling it, teasingly. The bigger man rumbled a low groan. “…Und in the middle of pleasure.”

He chuckled again, removing one hand from Heavy’s hardening cock and reaching instead for the dish. Now it was obvious what was inside of it. The mega baboon penis, still cold from being in storage as evident by the thin layer of ice crystals that glazed it, looked just as erect as Heavy’s own dick. The flesh was bluish, but Heavy could see the thin veins that branched under the skin as well as notice that the testicles were a pale red color. The entire thing looked like a dead, monstrous fish that, if even provoked with the slightest tap, could spring back to life at an instant. It was…awe inspiring, even for an animal. Growing horror aside, Heavy could see why the doctor so admired the baboon.

“Doktor, this is – “ Heavy began, straining for the words. He didn’t know how to handle being helpless or at the mercy of someone – not Medic of all people. Not someone he trusted as much as he did the older man whose hand was fondling his cock as if it was what he was born to do. This was too much, even for a man of questionable science. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “ – Is this even safe? I don’t know how I feel about big monkey penis on me. What about my penis?”

Medic hummed the first notes of the song he had been humming before, now undoubtedly Germany’s national anthem, and reached for one thing that Heavy did not see on the small table beside his own.

“Already taken care of, mein liebe.”

The needle hurt only for a second – he’d endured far worse over the years and a syringe to the neck was justifiably the least – but Heavy thought he’d see the bright, evil glimmer of the scalpel Medic took out of his front coat pocket forever.
--

“Perfect,” Medic whispered breathlessly. “Simply…perfection.”

He stepped back after undoing the heavy cuffs that bound Heavy to the table, marveling in awe at the end result of his tireless work as the big man sat up, still groggy and disoriented. He would be like that for a while, Medic figured…or at least until his special chemical cocktail kicked in, which wouldn’t take very long at all. Still, a chore was still a chore no matter how enthusiastically you went about it, and that didn’t change the fact that the surgery itself had drained Medic. Sometime during it, he had taken the SS uniform’s coat off as well as the hats, rolling up his sleeves. He stood now with bloody bare hands, wiping them distractedly with a towel as he watched Heavy get his bearings.

The Russian stood up. Medic gaped at the way the newly transplanted baboon cock dangled between his legs, not erect (not yet) but still large enough to brush between the Heavy’s legs, right where his knees began. He was a big man as it was, so it as a very accurate assessment of how the primate penis compared with the rest of his body.

Of course, it also helped that it was very satisfying eye-candy, to boot.

Heavy uttered a groan, raising one hand to his head to rub at his temples, but it quickly fell as soon as Medic slipped behind him wrapping broad arms around the other’s thick waist. Heavy’s eyes widened, dazed and unaware.

“What are you - ohhh…”

His protests tapered off into breathy sighs when the doctor’s roaming hands probed over the bigger man’s hips, caressing bare skin until they find the prize between Heavy’s legs. It was awkward to stroke him like this, as he needed – and wanted – both hands wrapped around the enormous organ, but there was no better way to heighten his partner’s pleasure than through this. Heavy loved being touched; it was written all across his face, a silent mask of drugged ecstasy, mouth forming a little o of euphoria.

Oh, and how his body loved it. Since thawing out during the procedure, the baboon penis’ color had been restored to its usual healthy glow. The shaft was a bright pink, veins restored to their equally vibrant blue, and Medic could feel it hardening underneath his fingertips as he prodded it and gently grazed his fingernails against it. He couldn’t help but grin, teasing and sly.

“Heavy ist such ein pervert,” He breathed, tickling the other man’s ear as he whispered against it. “In my country, you vould have been burned ein long time ago.”

But that didn’t bother Medic too much. After all, he was just as big of a pervert, and being in these pants wasn’t helping matters. With more effort than he made apparent, he removed one hand from Heavy’s new cock and brought it between their bodies, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. “Tell me, my love…”
His pants fell down to his ankles – success at last. It was getting very hard to hide his own erection.

“Vhat do you intend to do vith that large schwanz of yours?”

He knew the answer and wasn’t surprised when Heavy growled a throaty moan, turning around and grabbing Medic by the hips, twisting him around with a grunt. The chemicals he’d injected him with before the operation had done more than just sedate the Russian and numb the pain; also contained therein was an aphrodisiac of his own devising, synthesized with the fertility of baboons specifically in mind. It would last for as long as that stiffness between Heavy’s legs would - hours.

He anticipated eagerness, even overenthusiasm on Heavy’s end as the bigger man pushed the doctor against the now barren operating table. Medic uttered an oomph as the metal dug into his stomach, sucking in a mouthful of air and turning his head back as far as he could to take in the man behind him. Heavy looked part vengeful god, part hungry animal, looming behind Medic like a shadow. His cock was fully erect, and my, was it bigger than the doctor would have expected. He saw it twitch slightly as Heavy’s eyes traveled down his spine, followed by a finger. The German’s breath hitched, his back feeling taught and his ass clenching with desire when the finger found its way down there, settling inches below the base of his spine.

“Admiring the view?” Medic purred.

Heavy gave a small nod. “Yes. Is very good view.”

Abruptly, his finger pushed past Medic’s cheeks and found a tight ring of muscle. The doctor ‘s eyes widened and he cried out, pained and yet somehow so needy when Heavy penetrated him, then slowly retracted his finger only to do it again.

“Feels very good, too. Doesn’t it, Doktor?”

For once, Medic was speechless. No words came out, only pained gasps. Heavy may not have seemed like it, but he really was crafty when he wanted to be. But Medic had no complaints – even if he did, it wasn’t like he could voice them right now anyway. Simply, he was content to roll his hips weakly as Heavy continued to fingerfuck him, and he was left panting and longing for even more of it, even more of the man’s beefy finger inside of him.

But in the end, it wasn’t enough. It would graze his sweet-spot, but never hit it. And Heavy seemed to have that in mind, too.

“Careful,” Medic murmured, weakly turning his head to watch Heavy place his foot between the doctor’s legs, nicely spread and quivering. “Careful vith that, mein liebe. It’s still very new for you. Begin slowly und…carefully…”

Heavy nodded faintly like he wasn’t really even listening, but all the same, Medic saw him take his huge cock in one hand and guide the end to the German’s rear. The semi-massive erection was already glistening with a fine layer of precum; clearly the larger man was just as excited about this as Medic himself was. It must have been the beast within him speaking, not the man.

Slowly, he began to ease his penis into Medic. Ever so slowly, but that was part of what made it feel so wonderful. Medic could feel himself being stretched as if Heavy had already filled him with his entire length even though he barely had half of it inside of him. But that was more than enough for now, and Heavy seemed to recognize it too with the way he held off from forcing more in and concentrated with what he already had, resorting to the same tactics as he had done with his finger. He used his hand to work his length in and out of Medic, the other man’s low, whining mewls indication of how effective it was, and continued to do so even when the doctor felt a mounting, rising pressure within his own dick.

“Keep – going –“ He urged, panting and feeling a tiny shred of regret for how needy he looked right now – like some sort of slut. Heavy complied, moving faster against Medic’s shaking body. The German pounding the surface of the operating table with one fist, an involuntary gesture at best, eyes rolling to the back of his head and then closing fully as he allowed himself to enjoy this. Yes, enjoy it…he had every right to, didn’t he? It was what he deserved.

He was so lost in his own bliss and too preoccupied with the potential for his nearing orgasm that he wasn’t fully aware that Heavy had stopped until his mind processed it seconds later. He looked over his shoulder again, frowning, dark, sweaty strands of hair obscuring his gaze. He blew them away despite being all but out of breath, and gave Heavy a questioning – and more than a little bit annoyed – glance.

“Vhat? Vhat’s wrong?”

Heavy didn’t say anything.

“Vhy did you stop? Vhat’s wrong vith you?”

Silence. Just as Medic was about to take a very deep breath and try again, this time with a heaping helping of chastising, Heavy’s lip curled and he opened his mouth, the whites of his teeth made visible.

“…M-Mein liebe?”

Heavy opened his mouth and let out a guttural, animal snarl, then grabbed the doctor by his hips with his heavy hands. His nails dug into the meat of Medic’s waist, eliciting a cry, then drove in deep into the man as hard as he could.

Agonizing wasn’t the most accurate word to describe the sensation, which was funny because it was the only one Medic’s pain-wrecked mind could crazily comprehend midst the sea of burning, horrific redness his eyes clouded over with. He had felt full before, but this…this was overwhelming. He felt his face contort and he didn’t have to look back over his shoulder this time to know that Heavy was grunting and panting like a vulgar monkey, gulping in air like the greedy thing he was.

Not even slowly, not even with any concern for the wails of the man under him, he started thrusting his own hips back and forth, back and forth. This time, the pain didn’t just spike – it skyrocketed. With every rock, Medic’s voiced reached a timbre he had not even believed he was possible of achieving; by the fourth, it was a fever pitch. By that point, he had ceased to understand his own high-pitched, shrieks let alone keep up with them. It was a wonder he hadn’t passed out.

He couldn’t hear much else save for his own warbling cries, but he felt something.

Something that felt very much like splitting a piece of paper apart with both hands. Something like tearing.

The table dug further into his gut when he began to slump, but that wasn’t an issue anymore; it never really was. It ceased being one the moment the blood began to trickle down the insides of his thigh as Heavy’s thrusts became wet and meaty. Medic, in a more coherent time, would be able to associate the sound with a butcher’s hammer descending upon a slab of freshly cut, red beef. The comparison was an apt one; as far as he was concerned, he was on the chopping block, too.

“Gnnnhnngh,” He rasped, and that too sounded wet. His eyes rolled to the back of his head again and stayed there this time, and he was out before his skull hit the surface of the metal table.

After leaving the respawn room, he would recount that the last thing he heard was the sound of Heavy licking of his lips, making a smacking sound midst the messy noises his own body made as the massive, throbbing baboon dick pounded relentlessly into him.
--

It was a great party, all things considered. They didn’t have many of them here – not enough time for that, places to go and BLUs to kill and all that – but Demoman could honestly say that he enjoyed this one, and not because of the rum. That was secondary. What he loved the most was being around these people he called friends and laughing about things he saw after drinking.

Well, except for Scout. Scout was just a brat.

The little punk talked often about how easy it was to mistake Pyro’s fat underneath his ever-present suit for tits and curves, but he had the nerve to call Demoman a drunk old fart when he came back in from outside 2fort, swearing that he saw Heavy sitting in a tree with the most idiotic expression on his slack-jawed face and a banana in one blood-stained hand. Of course then everyone else had to join in as well, but that was okay because they all started laughing again.

Of course it was just the rum and Scrumpy talking. There was no way someone as big as Heavy could fit up in that little tree.