This would be my first post on TF2chan, and I'm almost kind of ashamed that it's going to be porn being that I have a more serious fic in the works! That said, I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to offer constructive criticism. --- Mad Milk Part I "Harebrained" was not a word that the Medic of Builders League United would ever affix to any of his ideas, no matter how many various and sometimes unidentifiable bodily fluids ended up all over him or his laboratory at the end of the day. The BLU Medic was an inventive man. His creativity was the basis on which the corporation had hired him, and without the constraints he'd encountered in his homeland he intended to put every single one of his ideas into practice. He'd replaced hearts, dissected stomachs, exploded spleens, trimmed intestines, transplanted feet, and even performed circumcisions (granted, that was a one-time thing. Needless to say; the RED Scout could not walk, much less run, for an extended period of time). The series of cool and unusual experiments he regularly performed had earned him a reputation as something of a butcher, but generally speaking, his teammates usually benefited from his medical malpractice. When the sun rose on 2fort, the day began as usual. The BLU Soldier woke his team with a few concussive, rocket-based explosions-- despite the Soldier's cannonfire wake-up calls, the base was oddly devoid of serious property damage-- which worked to rouse the team in the belief that they were under attack. However, when most of them remembered that it was six in the morning, Soldier was summarily ignored in favour of waking up at a sane hour. The Medic was, in fact, the only individual who actually remained awake after Soldier's wasteful, intrusive, and entirely unfaithful imitation of an alarm clock. Medic liked routine. It had kept him marginally sane through the long months of battle, so even intrusions he had once hated had become a welcome occurrence. When finished with his morning rituals, he threw open the doors to his laboratory. It was just as he'd left it, minus the poor, whinging sack of gore he'd had his scalpel jammed into yesterday. The RED Scout must have gotten tired of waiting for him to return. He'd worry about the corpse later, wherever it was. Medic hummed jovially, literally sashaying over to the window-side counter he had been tinkering at the day before. A hushed cooing came from the cage settled on the windowsill. Medic leaned up to peer at his dearest little experiments, Marie and Albert. Technically, they were one being, but they were still having trouble grasping that fact. When a pair of doves had meandered in from the battlements, Medic had caught them and sewn them together topsy-turvy. Presently they were suspended, an upside-down Albert's legs clung to the perch while Marie dangled. The pair shared a single set of wings between them, but were elsewise fastened back to back. "Guten morgen, Marbert." Medic crooned the portmanteau, but he didn't glance up at his pet project. He was looking instead at the vial of viscous liquid in the centrifuge on the counter. He drew it out gingerly, swirling it to study the consistency. The doctor frowned. Almost gelatinous. It would have to do. It may have been too thick for intravenous application, but it was certainly edible; and he was far too excited about his first test run of the serum. To this end, he'd carefully studied his teammates for a while prior. He certainly couldn't test it on himself-- like he would have anyhow!-- the subject would require a certain degree of resilience. Scout may have been a viable option at one point... until he realized what the boy's daily routine was like. Scout could spend the better part of the day blasting across the battlefield (or on slow days, the fort) at the speed of sound, fueling himself on energy drinks, but once the adrenaline and caffeine stopped pumping, Scout crashed with a vengeance. The only more ideal candidate after that little jackrabbit was Heavy. The reality of it was both positive and negative. Positive because Heavy trusted him. The large Russian rarely objected to being Medic's massive lab rat, but due to that trust, the good doctor actually felt a pang of guilt every time he chose to test something on Heavy. Medic sighed as he settled the serum back into the centrifuge. They would both have to trust in his abilities, both as a chemist and a doctor. For the time being, it was time for another kind of chemistry. Medic used the only non-medical implement in his laboratory to brew coffee. He savoured the smell when he finally got to pour a cup, but as he sought the cream in the small fridge normally used to preserve parts in the short term, the swinging doors to his lab burst open. "What are you doing in here at this hour, maggot?!" Soldier roared, as if the very smell of the German's coffee was a mortal offence to his patriotic nostrils. "Nazi experiments?! I knew it! I knew you were up to no good!" The helmet clad menace pointed an accusing finger at Medic. Medic removed his head from the fridge to turn and give Soldier the most lackadaisical expression he could work up at this hour. "Actually, Herr Soldier, I vas making coffee." He pointed out the cup on the operating table calmly. "Now, since you don't appear to be bleeding all over my floor, zhank gott, get out of my laboratory." Soldier didn't move. He stood his ground with that accusatory finger aimed directly at Medic even as the doctor rounded the operating table. "Schnell!" He snapped, waving his hands at the man in the doorway to move. Soldier caught his wrist, and being the stronger of the two, proceeded to drag the disgruntled doctor struggling down the hall towards the mess hall. "Come on, maggot! I'm going to show you how to make good old fashioned AMERICAN coffee!" Were the last words that echoed down the hall into the laboratory before the two were gone. No sooner than the sound faded, a leg appeared from one of the cabinets beneath the very counter Medic been standing at. The RED Scout poked his other leg out and steeled himself to slide out onto the floor. His life depended on an extremely haphazard application of superglue and gauze in equal measures. The heart of the problem was the scalpel wedged between two of his ribs, but that could be dealt with later. First, he intended to get revenge on that sonovabitch Nazi doctor who had completely fucked him up... indirectly, of course. Scout wasn't really one for the head-on approach most of the time. He dragged himself up on the edge of the counter, bleary eyes scanning for the tools of his impending vengeance. He first noted the coffee cup. That was a good start. Nothing would piss the BLU Medic off like having something slipped into his coffee. The Scout figured that a psycho like Medic probably had all sorts of poisonous cocktails stashed around. The only issue was, Scout couldn't find any of them. He had to squint to focus on the birdcage, but as soon as he saw what was inside of it he decided that creaming the doctor's coffee with bird shit was totally not worth touching that feathery frankenstein. The RED Scout then turned his attention to the centrifuge. There was only one object inside of it, and with time likely running out, Scout took what he could get. Hastily, he plucked the vial out of the centrifuge, uncapped it, and dumped the whole thing into Medic's coffee. He was quite pleased with himself until he realized that it wouldn't be lost on the Medic that his vial of... stuff... had somehow emptied. Scout limped over to the faucet to replace the contents of the vessel with water. He capped it and dropped it back into the centrifuge. He could hear his heart in his ears as he turned to the door of the lab. Now it was just a matter of getting back to the RED base. He put on his game face, and made an effort to run. He burst clumsily into the hall. His heart pounded louder in his ears each second-- until it occurred to him that his heart couldn't have been echoing down the hall. By then, he was already staring down the wrong end of a syringe gun. --- Medic returned to his lab in a lather. Between the Soldier, the RED Scout, and the spots of blood all over his formerly pristine labcoat, he felt he was through with people for the day. Of course, in his line of work you could never avoid people. Still, all he wanted was a nice strong cup of coffee, and lo, there it sat on his counter, still warm. With a grateful sigh, he lifted it to his lips and gulped excessively. Oversight was not something Medic usually suffered. Yet, the good doctor had made plenty of oversights that morning, let alone in the weeks he'd spent developing his new serum. He'd failed to notice that BLU had given him all the ingredients he'd wanted-- to make exactly what they wanted him to make. He'd failed to notice that there was a Scout from RED team in his cupboard. He'd failed to notice that his coffee had a filmy sheen floating on the surface. What he didn't fail to notice, though, was the sudden rise in his body temperature. He frowned, dismissing it as an effect of the coffee warming his bones, so to speak. Still, the heat slowly rose even as the Medic occupied himself elsewise to forget it. Even when he tinkered with the thermostat, cooling the room to much lower temperatures than was comfortable for most, his temperature still soared. He was sure he didn't have a fever-- fevers didn't just happen like that. He peeled off his gloves and labcoat, followed by his vest. Still, the sweat poured off him, soaking his dress shirt to transparency. Helplessly he'd gulped down glass after glass of water, but nothing. Finally, after nearly thirty minutes of agony, the fever seemed to break. Medic, slumped against the operating table, gave a sigh of relief. It was nearly short lived, though, due to Heavy's boistrous appearance through his doors. "DOKTOR!" The enormous man threw his arms open as if expecting an embrace from his favourite physician. Fifteen seconds of silence later Heavy was hoisting Medic onto the operating table, voicing his concerns softly in broken English. "Doktor, you are hurting." Medic did indeed cringe at his every touch, but not because he was in pain. The pressure of Heavy's hands against his skin was affecting him in ways he preferred not to describe. By the time the Russian had laid him out on the operating table, the doctor was failing to mask the powerful hard-on that had overcome his better judgement. "Ach, mein gott..."
It's always some kind of super aphrodisiac or mutant strain of viagra Medic's working on, doesn't it seem? And I see absolutely nothing wrong with that. Please, continue.
Well you've got my attention.
WELL, WELL, WELL! What do we have here? You've caught my attention, for sure...
You have my FULL attention. Please, please do go on. Looking forward to the next chapter/update.
Just gotta ask, is there Respawn?
Go on...... Nice to see a Scout actually manage to sort of get his own back, for once.
This is very well written!
Oh God, more Heavy/Medic I assume? I am EXCITED! Please DO go on!
Jesus Christ on a bicycle, I am in utter anticipation.
Tell me there's more, and soon! I paid for the whole seat, but I'm only using the edge!
This . . . is quite relevant to my interests. Pray, do continue. Also, first time out of the gate? You're a winner.
I approve of this wholeheartedly. Continue, please.
I love your medic with my entire being, it must be unhealthy. Wonderful job! Now I won't be able to use mad milk in the game without thinking about...something else.
Oh my goodness! Thank you for all your support, luvs. I'm working on the next part right now, I'll try to get it up tonight. To answer your question, Chessolin, no, there is no respawn. I like it without that dynamic of expendability.
I'll try to get it up tonight fffffffAHAHAHAHA Worst choice of words . . . or BEST choice of words? My vote's for "best." On a (mildly) more serious note, please don't feel "almost kind of ashamed that it's going to be porn." You know how we love that particular genre around here, and IMO you're off to a terrific start!
Mad Milk Part II Medic writhed on the operating table, barely paying mind to the Heavy's rumbling fuss at his side. The larger man was stroking his sweat-doused forehead with an enormous hand. Heavy, despite his size, could be exceedingly gentle. "Doktor is sick. I will take care of you! Doktor has always cared for team, even on bad days. What can I do?" Medic rolled onto his side with a groan. Just that touch on his forehead had him picturing Heavy's hands stroking much lower on his anatomy. It was inexplicable! The Medic was not a lustful man in most cases. He had urges like any other man, but he considered himself above them. An erection was something he could, and did, ignore in most normal circumstance. The present circumstance, however, was as far from normal as it was possible to be. He had never experienced a sexual urge this strong before. It made the intensity of his teenage years pale in comparison. Failing that, he had never thought of Heavy in an explicitly sexual light before. They'd had their moments, so to speak-- a fleeting touch that lasted too long, a moment of close proximity that nearly plunged into a kiss, a stray brush of the hand during one of Heavy's embraces. Medic had seen the other man in the nude before coming out of the shower, and through his surgeries and examinations had come to understand his friend's body in some ways. Still, that didn't stop the embarrassment from setting in whilst he imagined the Heavy's powerfully muscled arms around him, those massive hands biting into his hips as they pushed him down on a cock bigger than he could have imagined. The doctor emitted a soft whimper. A droplet of sweat crawled down his temple and caught in his brow. Heavy grunted, getting up to refill the condensation-frosted glass Medic had left sitting on the counter. In the absence of the other's touch Medic was able to relax for a moment. Every second of relief was as good as gold to him. He could only grit his teeth when Heavy returned with his water. The Russian cradled his head in one hand and tipped the glass to Medic's mouth in the other, but when he choked Heavy decided that there was no other option but to prop his doctor upright. The smaller man cringed as Heavy's hand slid from the base of his skull down the nape of his neck and traveled halfway down his spine. His erection was getting to be painful. Heavy must have noticed the look on his face. "Should I go?" At once Medic's expression ironed out, and he turned to the man supporting him with arms outstretched. "Nein, nein mein freund." He uttered absently as his hands meandered from the smooth dome of the Russian's skull down his cheeks, onto the stubble of his jaw. Ignoring Heavy's strange expression, Medic turned his ministrations to the other's arms, squeezing the firm muscles raptly. To memory, Medic had never been particularly handsy, so his sudden change of heart stunned Heavy. Truthfully, the large man had never chanced the belief that Medic would be able to surmount his own nerves regarding their interactions. Heavy would have been perfectly content to remain friends with his doctor, but being more than that was just ideal. On the other hand, given the situation, the Medic was probably delirious from fever. He was probably only touching him because he was cooler. Heavy smiled patiently, shaking his head. "Doktor, is not time for checkup. Drink." He thrust the glass at Medic. The doctor stared at him over his spectacles for a moment, the trance slowly lifting. His hands closed over the cold glass. He turned from Heavy gradually, tipping his head back and downing the water so hastily that it trickled from the corners of his lips down his chin. He didn't know it, but Heavy's eyes followed those droplets down to his soaked shirt, and they didn't stop there. They moved further down the middle-aged doctor's lean body only to halt at the visible rise in his pants. The world must have stopped moving for a split second, but not with such force as to throw Heavy from his chair (there again, Heavy was a hard man to move. He was such a brick house that the Commodores could have written a song about him years later, in 1977¹). No, Heavy devised a plan at that very moment. He removed the glass from Medic's hand with some difficulty considering how tightly the German gripped it. "We need to get your shirt off. Is not good for you to wear wet shirt, da?" The colour danced back from Medic's cheeks. No, no, no, a thousand times no... but yes, oh, how he wanted to be undressed. Sense and desire fought a war more intense than any battle he'd ever taken part in. Desire inexplicably captured all the control points, and the doctor found his back across the operating table with Heavy's thick fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt with almost deliberate leisure. Medic shuddered. The Russian's hands were nearing his beltline. The fabric of his shirt slipping out of his waistband was like sandpaper on his skin, but it was worth the chagrin once his shirt lay open on either side of his body like sheared flesh. The cool air hit his chest mercifully, but it wasn't enough. He stared into the polished dome of the light over the operating table, still wondering what had come over him. He was helpless to whatever foolishness this fever of his had boiled his brain into dreaming up. Meanwhile, the man at his side was debating his next move. Heavy wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination (despite what many people, even his own team, were led to believe), but his people skills left something to be desired. He was often too forward. He expressed himself in a manner large enough to befit his size. So as much as he wanted to press his hand to the Medic's groin and simply goad him into whatever passions he seemed to be suffering from, he understood that doing so might be the fastest way to get launched from the doctor's domain with a jackboot halfway up his ass. Heavy lay his hand on Medic's moist chest instead, resisting the inclination to stroke the silver spackled dusting of fine hair there. Medic's pulse leapt into his palm. The kinetic intrusion broke Medic from his thoughts. The formula, his serum-- he needed to mention it to Heavy. He needed to test it. He needed to man up, to ignore his arousal, he needed... Medic's stomach clenched suddenly. His cock twitched with a twinge of pain. Every inch of flesh between his thighs felt hot, swollen, achy. His chest heaved with a sigh. He cracked. It wasn't worth it. "Herr Heavy, your hand." He began, clenching his teeth thereafter. The Russian glanced at him, waiting for his doctor to continue the thought trapped somewhere between his upper and lower molars. Medic's jaw loosened to free the rest of the words. "Touch me." Heavy gave a low rumble of satisfaction. He didn't hesitate to obey the man on the operating table. Medic wasn't lenient with his commands, and "touch me" was not a question. Heavy thumbed the doctor's left nipple, savouring the twitches his initial ministrations produced. He'd never pegged the Medic for being physically sensitive. Before long Medic was groaning in a mix of frustration and satisfaction. Heavy's touch traveled down his ribcage, over the flat surface of his stomach. Medic's body went rigid suddenly. The large man palmed the throbbing bulge trapped inside his doctor's pants. Medic's cock practically leaped to the contact. "Mein gott!" Medic cried. Heavy grinned, though the glare the German gave him practically slapped the expression off his face. Had he done something wrong? With a metallic thud, Medic's head fell back against the table again. "Do not vaste my time, Heavy." He grumbled. "I vant more zen zat. You know zat." "...Da, doktor." How did they put it in the movies? "Your wish, my command." That would do. Besides, if his compliance didn't pacify the Medic, his hand certainly would. He undid the Medic's pants, tugging them down off a burgeoning erection (he could never have hoped to fit his huge hand into the other man's undergarments!). Precum already beaded at the tip of the German's cock, slipping down clear and thin as sweat. He caught Medic's sigh. Heavy couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate the way his doctor's prick bobbed of it's own volition, but appreciation wasn't the goal here. With some difficulty due to his bulk, Heavy climbed onto the operating table. Medic's brows knitted, though he didn't look up. What was Heavy doing? The big man was shifting awkwardly, as though unsure of what to do. But Heavy did know what to do, this he proved to his doctor by plunging the smaller man's cock into his mouth in a single abrupt motion. Medic's fist smashed against the side of the operating table, the noise barely drowning his exclamation. Heavy's mouth was as firm and demanding as the man himself, and for however amateur it might have been, it was the most welcome relief in the world. Medic's legs came up on either side of the Russian, toes curling in his boots. He raised his head slightly to watch the bald head bobbing between his thighs, to watch his shaft disappear into the other man's mouth repeatedly until his eyes rolled back into his skull and he dropped back against the table once again. Heavy was most pleased with himself. He was giving his doctor such a thrill! It was exactly what he'd wanted, what they'd both wanted. The big man had no other thought in his head but to appease Medic at all times, in any way he could. Getting to suck him when he obviously seemed to need it was a treat. He swirled his tongue over the head of Medic's cock, sweeping up the salty precum still dribbling generously from it. The doctor was straining in his mouth, moaning in bursts between laboured breaths. Heavy crept his hand to Medic's sac, supporting his weight on one elbow now, and began to fondle the weight of the Medic's balls. They were tight and swollen. He knew his doctor was ready to burst. Heavy drew his head up, his mouth sliding back up Medic's shaft with a deliciously loud slurp and off his cock with a wet pop-- that was all it took. Medic's boots squealed against the surface of the operating table when he tried to dig his heels into it. He white knuckled the edges of the surface, bracing himself while his back arched. His eyes screwed shut, and tilting his head back he gave a long, indulgent moan. His cock jerked hard as he erupted, splattering cum into Heavy's face, one spurt after another-- but it didn't end there. He kept going, crushing his own body to the table while his cock spewed out more cum than he even thought-- nay, more than he knew-- was even possible, much less in a single orgasm. Yet he kept coming, writhing against the metal, covering Heavy's shirt and vest, spewing wildly onto him for longer than he could even estimate after the fact. Medic came down from his orgasm even sweatier than before, bleary-eyed, his hair a wreck and his spectacles crooked. Heavy watched him sink bonelessly to the metal with raised brows. He was dripping-- dripping!-- with an unreal his doctor's cum. Nonetheless, when that fact sunk in, he smirked at the reality of what had just occurred between them. He looked on with contentment at the man beneath him. Colour had stolen into the Medic's normally fair skin, flushing him a pleasing shade of pink. The little curlycue of black hair at the front of Medic's head, which Heavy found so endearing, was plastered to the doctor's forehead by sweat. The Russian lowered his head to kiss at the inside of Medic's thighs playfully, breathing in the musk of his sweat when he approached the thicket of black hair at the doctor's groin. He noted with amusement that cum was still running in rivulets down Medic's cock. He was still going, though he didn't seem to realize it! What Medic did happen to realize (once he was sane, conscious, and focused enough to do so) was how good he felt. Normally an orgasm of that intensity and duration would have wiped him out completely, but in the moment he felt higher than Scout after a six pack of Bonk. The morning had grown increasingly confusing. The doctor gave a somewhat helpless, quizzical look to Heavy, who glanced up at him with a lazy smile. Like the Russian, he too noticed that he still seemed to be coming, even after his orgasm. He hadn't even lost his erection. But how, he wondered? What in the world could have granted him that kind of endurance? Except... "Mein gott." He muttered tonelessly as the possible (and likely²) answer dawned on him. The serum. He'd initially engineered it to increase vigor and endurance under physical duress, but he must have done something wrong. Yes, wrong, he had to convince himself that the fruits of his labour weren't an experiment gone horribly, horribly right. But how could the serum have gotten into him? "Doktor?" Medic had been silent for too long. Heavy was beginning to worry that he'd done something terrible with the way Medic simply gazed up into the unilluminated light fixture suspended over the operating table. The doctor's body was rigid again, but not with pleasure. It had clicked for him. The Scout. That verdammt RED Scout whom he'd given a faceful of syringes earlier must have slipped the serum into his unattended coffee somehow. Medic wanted to seethe, but he felt too good to do so. "Doktor?" Heavy repeated. "Vas?" Medic's head jerked up, his gaze falling on Heavy with more conviction than he meant to imbue it with. Heavy's face fell, at which point Medic felt guilty. "Ah, Herr Heavy. You vere sehr gut. Amazing, in fact." He amended softly. To his relief, Heavy's expression regained it's former satisfaction. "Is doktor feeling better?" He would have leaned over Medic, but he wasn't entirely sure that the doctor would want any more cum on him than was already all over his pants. Medic, to his surprise, gave a coy smile. "Vell, ja... but that does not mean I am finished vith you." The light caught his eyes and his glasses all at once, giving them a devilish shine. To Be Continued... --- ¹ They did, but singing about a big Russian mercenary war hero wouldn't have caught on, so they changed it to be about a woman. ² That is, the exact answer. On an off day, Medic probably wouldn't have realized. Then again, an "on" day for Medic didn't involve being fellated by a giant Russian.
I'm enjoying this immensely, but I do have one question. Is the RED scout still there? Do we get to hear his opinion on this if he is?
I really do LOVE this fic, I love how you portray all the characters, it seems in character IMO. Great job!
Oh lawd I made typos. That's what I get for writing shit at 4 in the morning. I butchered a sentence that was supposed to be "with an unreal amount of his doctor's cum." Ffffuuu. If you see any more errors please let me know or correct them as you please. I wish this site had an edit function!
I love you. Oh, delicious, delicious porn... porn born of SCIENCE! This is, like, my favourite thing.